Brother Grimm
by Scooter Kitty
Summary: The team investigates a series of kidnapped little girls. Meanwhile, Nick is having strange dreams.
1. Chapter 1

Author's note: This story deals with raped and murdered little girls. There will be no graphic descriptions, but if the idea of this alone bothers you, please don't read. Also, this is my first attempt at writing something case oriented and I am definitely not a scientist, so please bear with any of my amateur errors. Oh, and don't be put off by the opening paragraph. I was just playing around with the title.

8/14/05

BROTHER GRIMM

Chapter 1

_Once upon a time, in a magical kingdom filled with light and beautiful people, there lived a knight, a noble knight who, along with his brethren, was sworn to protect and avenge the innocent and the wronged. He had sworn to fulfill this duty using all of the weapons at his disposal, his mind, his body, and if needs be, his soul. This is his story..._

The colorful lights of the police cruiser slashed through the night, announcing to the world that the large, Spanish-style, stucco house at the end of the quiet, upscale cul-de-sac was the site of some unknown tragedy. Three black SUVs pulled up to park beside the cruiser and the dark blue Taurus already at the scene. Six dark clothed investigators exited these three vehicles, descending on the house like a murder of crows descending on a roadkill carcass.

Capt. Brass met this group as they approached the open front door of the house. Addressing the supervisor of the Graveyard Shift, the detective said, "The girl's name is Tiffany Metcalfe. She's seven years old. She hasn't been seen for approximately six hours. The nanny put her to bed at 8:00 and discovered her missing at around 2 this morning. The parents claim they didn't hear a thing. I haven't had a chance to talk to them much yet."

"I want to be with you when you do," Grissom said.

"I'll talk to the nanny," Catherine declared.

"So, do you think it's the same guy who took those other two girls?" Greg asked. "It is the same subdivision."

Turning to address his team, Gil said, "We can't make that assumption at this point. Until we have evidence to the contrary, we treat this as a crime scene unto itself. Nick, Sara, go up to the girl's room and see what you can find. Warrick, Greg, take the grounds."

With somber nods and murmurs of assent, the younger members of the group quickly dispersed to their assigned areas. The older members continued on into the house at a slower pace. While Catherine followed Nick and Sara upstairs, Brass and Grissom stepped into the spacious, comfortably furnished living room. They found the parents sitting on an overstuffed couch. Mrs. Metcalfe was crying quietly while her husband rubbed her back, looking numb and in shock.

"Mr. and Mrs. Metcalfe? This is Gil Grissom from the crime lab," Brass introduced his colleague. "We'd like to ask you some more questions."

Gil seated himself in the chair across from the couch. "Did either of you find a note or anything in Tiffany's room, which might have been left by the kidnapper?"

"No," Mr. Metcalfe answered. "And Rosa didn't say anything about finding one either."

Metcalfe was a tall, athletically-built man in his early fifties. His light brown hair was only just beginning to show threads of silver at the temples. His wife was a good fifteen years his junior. She was quite lovely, with pale skin and thick, auburn hair.

"Is Tiffany your only child?" Gil asked.

"Yes," Mrs. Metcalfe answered tearfully.

"What time did the two of you go to bed last night?"

"Um, around midnight."

"And you didn't notice anything suspicious or out of the ordinary at that time, a car parked on the street that shouldn't have been there?"

"No."

"Can you think of anyone who might want to hurt your family for any reason?" Brass asked, hovering behind the chair in which Grissom sat.

"No," Metcalfe said. "I'm a corporate attorney for one of the hotel chains. I deal mostly with contracts. I'm not really in a position that would make enemies and Angela doesn't work. I can't imagine why anyone would want to hurt us or Tiffany."

"How long has Rosa Moreno worked for you?" Brass asked.

"She's been with us since Tiffany was three. You don't think Rosa had anything to do with this, do you?" Angela Metcalfe asked. "She adores Tiffany. Rosa would never hurt her. It's that same maniac who took the two other girls in the area, isn't it? It's been all over the news. That's who you should be out looking for. Why haven't you people caught him yet?"

"Mrs. Metcalfe, we're doing the best we can, but we don't know that this is the work of the same man," Brass pointed out.

"It's got to be! There can't be more than one sicko out there who likes to kidnap little girls."

"If only that were true, Mrs. Metcalfe," Gil said softly. "If only that were true."

---------------------------------------------------------------------

"Mrs. Moreno, I want you to tell me exactly what you did last night, from the time you put Tiffany to bed," Catherine said.

She was interviewing the nanny in her small, but comfortable room, which was located right next door to the missing girl's. Rosa Moreno was a plump Hispanic woman in her late forties, with a faint, melodic accent and a kind, round face. She was quite obviously devastated by the disappearance of her young charge.

"I put Tiffany to bed at 8:00, just like I do every school night. We'd had a busy weekend, so I was tired. I went to my own room and watched some television until about 10:00 then I went to sleep. I woke up about 2 in the morning when I heard a noise. I went to Tiffany's room to check on her, but she was gone."

"You heard a noise? What kind of a noise?"

"It was like a scraping sound. It sounded like it was coming from Tiffany's room. That's why I went to check on her."

"And what did you do when you found she wasn't in her bed?"

"I looked around the room first. She sometimes likes to hide from me. It's a game we play, but she wasn't in her usual hiding places, under the bed, in the closet. I checked the bathroom, to see if she was there, but she wasn't. Then I woke up Mr. and Mrs. Metcalfe. When Tiffany was younger, she would sometimes sleepwalk. Occasionally she even went outside, so we all went out and checked the grounds, but we didn't find anything. That's when Mr. Metcalfe called the police."

"So, how much time do you think elapsed between the time you discovered Tiffany missing and the time you and the Metcalfe's went outside to look for her?" Catherine asked.

"Oh, um, maybe fifteen minutes."

"Did you happen to notice what time the Metcalfe's went to bed?"

"No, I didn't, but it was some time after me."

"Alright, thank you, Mrs. Moreno."

----------------------------------------------------

Sara took a deep breath as she pushed the door open and stepped into Tiffany Metcalfe's bedroom, followed closely by Nick. Pulling latex gloves on, the two investigators wandered slowly around the room, for now, simply taking in the general impression the room gave of the child who inhabited it.

It was a large, well-lit, tidy room with a twin bed and a matching dresser. The walls were painted a cheerful, pale green and low bookcases crammed with toys, stuffed animals, and even some books, lined the perimeter of the room. The walls were covered with pictures and posters of castles, knights on horseback and tall ships.

"Looks like she was a bit of tomboy," Nick commented, holding up a crude, hand-made, wooden sword. "A lot of this stuff reminds me of my sister Allison."

"Yeah, I had one of these when I was her age, too," Sara said, gesturing to a rock polisher sitting on one of the bookcases.

"Yeah, I used to love Legos when I was a kid," Nick said, indicating a large, plastic bin, filled with the small, colorful, plastic building blocks.

"Okay, I'll process the bed," Sara volunteered, getting down to business somewhat reluctantly.

"Right, I'll take the windows. They're the only way someone could have gotten into the room without coming through the house."

The windows were in fact three narrow windows placed side by side along the east-facing wall. The left-hand window was still open, the screen gone, but Nick still conscientiously dusted the white trim around all three windows for fingerprints. Unfortunately the only ones he found were entirely too small to be the kidnappers. They were obviously Tiffany's own. He did find a slight smear of red on the trim of the left-hand window. Testing it, he found that it was blood. He took a sample of it for the lab to process.

Leaning out the open window, he found that it was a tight fit. Shining his flashlight downward, he saw that below the window was a line of shrubs which appeared to be undisturbed. Continuing to move the beam of light up the wall, he found two scratched areas in the beige paint and shallow gouges in the stucco just beneath the window sill. The marks were spaced about right for a ladder. Grabbing his camera, Nick took several shots of these marks with a ruler stuck between them to provide scale for the photograph.

Meanwhile, Sara was busy meticulously going over every inch of the bed with her portable ALS unit. She found several long red hairs that she attributed to the girl, but not much else. She was going over the plaid, patchwork quilt that lay on top. As she approached the foot of the bed, she discovered a small, telltale, white stain. Taking a sterile swab from her kit, she tested the stain. She gave a heavy sigh.

"I've got a semen stain," she announced to Nick.

"Yeah? Damn... Find anything else?"

"Some hairs, but I'm pretty sure they're the girl's."

The two investigators examined the rest of the room, trying to find some overlooked clue or anomaly which might help their case. Looking over one of the bookcases, Sara picked up a framed photo of Tiffany. The girl was obviously dressed for Halloween, in an elaborate pirate's costume, complete with plastic hook and cutlass.

"Hmm, most little girls this age want to be a princess or a ballerina," the woman commented with a slight smile. She held the photo out to her companion.

Nick accepted the picture and couldn't help smiling at the wide, gap-toothed grin on the girl's face. She had been missing one of her front teeth at the time the picture was taken. Despite this, she was a very pretty child with a thick head of long, coppery-red curls. She had wide, light brown eyes and a pale, heavily-freckled complexion. With a sad sigh, he handed the picture back to Sara.

"You know, I'll bet she can be a handful," the woman said, taking another look before returning the photo to its place.

"Yeah, I think she might've fought back some. I found blood on the window trim. Of course, it could belong to our kidnapper. Those windows are pretty narrow. They were kind of a tight fit for me and my shoulders aren't that broad."

"Oh, they're plenty broad enough, Nicky," Sara said, in an unnaturally high and breathy voice. "As long as they're wide enough for a girl to rest her little head on, that's good enough." Moving closer to him, she did just that and gazed up at him with wide, vacant eyes.

Chuckling at the ridiculous concept of Sara Sidle as the wide-eyed, helpless innocent, he moved his shoulder away from her, saying lightly, "Get off me!"

Stepping apart, they returned to the reality of their surroundings and their levity quickly evaporated. Looking back at the bed, Nick's mind drifted back to a different little girl's bedroom, in a different state, in another time... He remembered he and his sister Allison playing elaborate games in the bedroom she shared with their sisters Molly and Emily. These games greatly annoyed the two older girls as they involved much bouncing on the bed, loudly raised voices, and hitting each other with pillows.

Of course half the fun of these games was the simple the fact that they did annoyed the older girls. They easily could have taken the games to Nick's room. Theoretically he shared his room with their older brother Chris, but by this time he was away at college most of the time, so the room was basically Nick's. They could have played their games there and not annoyed anyone, but hey, where's the fun in that?

"Nick? Hey, hello...?"

"Hmm?" he turned, to find Sara standing very close to him. He hadn't even been aware of her approach.

"You zoned out on me for a minute. Where were you?"

"Oh, uh, I was just thinking." In truth, Nick had been fighting a very nasty head cold for a few days now and occasionally, at the most inopportune moments, his mind seemed to simply wander off.

"Are you okay?"

"Yeah, I'm fine."

That three word question had quickly become the most common question asked of him by his fellow investigators since his return to the field, following his abduction. They asked him constantly. If he was being too quiet, they asked him. If he didn't smile on cue, they asked him. His three word answer was always the same, but still they asked. It had all become like some strange two-part mantra. He wondered if the words themselves actually meant anything anymore. The mantra seemed to have become more about the ritual of the question itself. He supposed it was the only way they could show that they cared without seeming to smother him. So, he tried very hard not to get impatient with the repetitive question.

Nick helped Sara bag up the quilt and the rest of the bed linens. The two investigators gathered up their kits and their collected evidence and headed downstairs. They found the elder members of the team in the kitchen with the Metcalfe's.

As soon as Nick and Sara entered the room, Grissom said, "Sara, gather up all the evidence we've collected so far and get it back to the lab. Tell Mia and Hodges to drop whatever they're doing and start processing our stuff ASAP."

"Right," the woman said, starting out the door with her armload of evidence.

"Mrs. Metcalfe," Nick spoke up, "I'm going to need a sample of Tiffany's DNA."

"Oh, alright, what do you need?"

"A hairbrush, a toothbrush, or anything else that might have skin cells or other body fluids on it."

"Um, okay, I can get you those things, just a moment." The investigator waited until after the wife had left the kitchen before he set his case on the floor and took out a swab. "Mr. Metcalfe, I'm going to need a DNA sample from you as well."

"Me? W-why?"

"We found a semen stain on Tiffany's bedspread."

"Oh, God..." the older man breathed, a second or two later, the full meaning of the investigator's request hit home. "Wait a minute, you don't think that I h-?"

"It's just procedure, Mr. Metcalfe," Grissom interrupted quickly. "It's mostly so that we can rule you out as a suspect. Are there any other males who might have had contact with your daughter, a gardener, perhaps?"

"We have a landscape company that comes in once a week, but they would have no reason to come in contact with Tiffany."

"Still, if you could get me the name of that company, it would help."

"Oh, yes, of course I'll get it for you. Alright then, what do you want from me?"

"I just need you to open your mouth, sir," Nick said, with a slight reassuring smile.

Snapping off the cap, he slid the plastic, protector down from the sterile swab and wiped it against the inside of Mr. Metcalfe's left cheek. Finished, Nick slid the protector back into place, covering the swab, and snapped the cap back on. He deposited the whole thing back into the cardboard box it had been originally packaged in. Taking a pen from his field vest, he quickly jotted down the pertinent information about the sample and tucked it away.

Nick glanced around the kitchen, still unconsciously seeking more clues. His eyes fell on a large, flat, rectangular, white box, sitting on the counter top. Curious, he wandered over and lifted the lid with a gloved finger. Inside were the meager remains of a chocolate sheet cake with thick, white icing. It was the kind of cake that comes from a professional bakery. Lowering the lid again, he read the name McCormick Bakery which was stamped on the top of the box.

"Tiffany's seventh birthday was this past Tuesday," Mrs. Metcalfe explained, walking up to the investigator and holding out her daughter's hairbrush and toothbrush.

Nick produced two evidence bags and indicated for Angela to deposit the items into the separate bags. "So, I take it that you had a party for her?" he asked, nodding toward the cake box, as he sealed up the evidence bags.

"Yes, but the party wasn't until the night before yesterday, Friday night."

"Were there a lot of adults at the party, as well as children?" Grissom asked, picking up on the conversation and moving closer to join them.

"Yes, quite a few of our friends were here as well. We had a barbecue."

"Could you make a list of all the guests who attended the party for me?"

"Uh, yes, I could to that... Do you honestly think one of our friends might have taken Tiffany?"

"I'm just trying to be thorough, Mrs. Metcalfe."

-----------------------------------------------------

Outside, Warrick moved slowly around the lavishly landscaped grounds. The subdivision was located well outside the city limits and the houses all had large lots. As the end lot on the cul-de-sac, the Metcalfes' was somewhat larger than most. There were plenty of places where someone could hide and watch the house.

The investigator scanned his flashlight around the numerous shrubs and ornamental trees, but found nothing probative. There were motion-activated, security lights set around the perimeter of the house and Warrick found that the light that should have illuminated the side of the house which Tiffany's bedroom windows faced had been disabled. He photographed the unit and dusted it for prints, but found nothing. Their kidnapper had apparently worn gloves.

He also discovered tire marks in the grass near Tiffany's room. The investigator seriously doubted the Metcalfe's would ever park a car on their immaculate lawn. The marks had to have been made by the kidnapper's vehicle. Unfortunately the Metcalfe's had an automated sprinkler system. The grass was too wet and springy to have retained anything more than a very general tire impression. It would be impossible to figure out the model of vehicle the suspect had driven. Although, taking careful measurements and photographs, Warrick was hoping he'd be able to determine the type of vehicle used from the distance between the four tires.

While Warrick checked the outer area of the grounds, Greg stayed closer to the house. After carefully examining the entire exterior of the house, the young CSI found nothing to indicate any attempt at entry anywhere, except the area directly under the girl's bedroom windows. He found a couple of disturbed spots in the gravel that surrounded the house, which appeared to be where the clawed feet of a ladder might have rested. He snapped off a few pictures and slowly ran his flashlight upward from that spot. He also saw the two marks on the side of the house, which Nick had photographed earlier. Greg snapped off a few photos of his own.

Discouraged by the relative fruitlessness of their searches, the two investigators headed into the house, to rejoin the rest of the team. Walking up to Mr. Metcalfe and introducing himself, Warrick said, "I noticed that you have motion-sensor security lights around your house, were you aware that the light under Tiffany's bedroom was disabled?"

"No, I didn't know that," Metcalfe said.

"Do you remember any of the security lights going off last night?"

"No, but they may have," the older man admitted with a heavy sigh. "There's a coyote that's been coming into the neighborhood at night, getting into people's garbage cans, setting off everyone's security systems. It's been going on for a couple of months. Everyone has pretty much been ignoring their security lights or just turning them off altogether."

Warrick nodded sadly. "Alright, thank you, sir."

With all the evidence collected and the questions answered, Grissom gestured for his team to follow him out of the house. He stopped out on the front walk and turned to quietly address his people. "LVPD is sending over a couple of scent dogs. We're not holding out much hope, but who knows? I want to be here with the dogs. Greg, you're staying as well. You get to be my designated runner. The rest of you, get back to the lab and help Sara start processing the evidence.

"Oh, Catherine, get with Ecklie. I want all of Day Shift's paperwork from the two earlier kidnappings. I think there is a connection between all three... All right, get going, I'll see you all back at the lab."

----------------------------------------------------------

It was almost an hour's drive back to the lab from the vic's subdivision. Nick was sitting in the back seat of the SUV. Warrick was driving and Catherine was in the passenger seat. As the driver, the tall, African-American CSI had claimed the right to choose the radio station and he had found a contemporary jazz station that was playing a lot of mellow, saxophone stuff. Warrick and Catherine were quietly discussing the case.

Comfortably sprawled out on the bench seat in back, Nick could feel his head cold catching up to him. He hadn't slept well this morning and he was definitely feeling it now. Between the other CSIs' quiet voices, the mellow music, and the vibration of the vehicle, the Texan could barely keep his eyes open. He tried to force himself to stay awake, since he was technically still on the job, but it was a lost cause...

Nick found himself standing in a dense, shadowy forest. Tall, broadleaf trees loomed above and all around him, blocking the sunlight and creating a feeling of claustrophobia. There was a slight breeze rippling through the high branches, ruffling the leaves. It sounded disturbingly like many soft voices whispering above him. The more reassuring sounds of crickets, birds and other animal life let him know that he wasn't completely alone in the eerie woods. Looking around and picking a random direction, he started walking. Dry, dead leaves crunched under his feet, sounding unnaturally loud in the relatively hushed atmosphere.

The sound of humming caught his attention and he turned to his right, searching for the source of the sound. A flash of bright red flitted through the trees off in that direction. Nick felt his heart rate increase. The flash had been too big to be a cardinal or any other harmless animal. But it had also seemed rather too small to be a human... at least an adult human.

Hearing the high-pitched laughter of a child, the investigator quickened his pace, moving toward the flash of color. Abruptly stepping into a large clearing, he saw the back of a small figure wearing a long, hooded, red cloak. This was the flash of red he had seen through the trees. The hood was pulled up, so he could see nothing of the person, but the outline of the cloak.

The little figure turned to face him and he saw it was a young girl. In fact, recognizing the coppery curls spilling out from beneath the hood, he realized it was Tiffany Metcalfe. She gave him a wide grin. The front tooth had grown back, so the smile was intact and perfect. She waved to him, indicating that he should follow her, and turned to disappear into the trees again.

"Wait!" Nick called out to the child, but she had already vanished. As he was about to start after her, he heard the humming again. It was a simple, children's tune, hauntingly familiar, and yet the Texan couldn't think of the words.

"Tiffany, wait, come back!"

An unexpected hand touching his shoulder brought him very abruptly back to reality. Nick sat up with a gasp, finding himself still in the back seat of the Tahoe, with Catherine leaning around the passenger seat, watching him in amusement. Warrick had apparently already gone inside.

"Sorry, I didn't mean to startle you, but we're back at the lab," Catherine said, smiling.

"Oh, God, I'm sorry, Cath. I'm really embarrassed," Nick said, rubbing a hand over his face and trying to banish the strange dream from his mind.

"It's all right, don't worry about it. It's not like we were in the middle of some crucial experiment. We were just driving from one place to another. It happens... Are you feeling okay? You look a little pale."

"Yeah, I'm fine. I just have a slight cold. It's no big deal."

"You sure? I mean maybe you should go home."

Nick sighed. If anyone else on the team had suggested going home because of a cold in the middle of a huge case like this, they would have been ridiculed. But because in this instance, it was Nick and everyone was still treating him like he was made of spun glass, a cold for him was tantamount to pneumonia for anyone else.

"I'm fine, Catherine. I just didn't sleep well this morning. I'll be okay once we start working on the case."

"Okay."

To be continued...


	2. Chapter 2

8/20/05

BROTHER GRIMM

Chapter 2

After dropping off the hairbrush and toothbrush he'd collected from Mrs. Metcalfe, as well as Mr. Metcalfe's DNA sample, with Mia, Nick joined the rest of the team in the evidence room. Sara had tacked Tiffany's quilt up to one of the walls and she and Warrick were examining it.

"You know, I don't understand this semen stain," Sara commented. "The guy couldn't have tried to rape her. She would have made too much noise. And the semen stain would have been higher up on the bed, not at the foot."

"I don't know, maybe our boy stood at the foot of the bed, watching the girl sleep and got so excited that he decided to, uh, 'Free Willy' right there," Warrick suggested.

"Oh, that is just sick," Sara said, with a grimace.

"Yeah, well, at this point, I think that's a given," Nick said.

"Good point."

"Hey, where's Catherine?" Nick asked.

"She's talking to Ecklie, trying to get permission for us to raid Day Shift's paperwork," Warrick answered.

"Ecklie's still here?"

"Oh, no, she called him at home, woke his ass up."

The two male CSIs exchanged malicious grins at the happy thought of the less-than-adored Assistant Director of the lab, being rudely awakened in the middle of the night. Their attention was drawn to Catherine as she entered the lab, carrying several thick file folders.

"Okay, I got the go ahead. These are our cases now. I've got all the paperwork. Now, we need to sit down and start going over these reports and photographs, see what's similar, what isn't," she said.

"Yeah, listen, I'm going to go start feeding those tire measurements I took into the vehicle database and see if I can't at least come up with a vehicle type to match those marks," Warrick said.

"Okay, sounds good."

"Uh, Cath, I really need to finish up my field reports on that robbery case I wrapped up last night. Then I'll be done with that and I can concentrate on this case," Sara said.

"Alright, go ahead," the older woman said. Turning to Nick, she said, "I guess it's just you and I."

Taking the files into the break room, where they could spread them out on the large table, Catherine and Nick started comparing notes. The first two kidnappings were definitely related, Day Shift had already noted that, but whether those cases matched theirs, was yet to be determined. They had been poring over the files for a couple of hours, when they were interrupted by Grissom entering the room.

"Hey, how'd it go with the dogs?" Catherine asked.

"It was a bust. They didn't find anything. Are those Day Shift's files?"

"Yeah and there's definitely a connection between all three kidnappings. Same M. O. The guy went through the second-story bedroom window in all three houses, presumably using a ladder. Semen stains were found at all three locations. They matched in the first two cases, although no match was found in any of the databases. We're still waiting on the results of our sample."

Grissom nodded. "Good job. Listen, you two are the first people I found so you get the case. We just got a call on a 419 at a local high school. It's the same neighborhood as all three of the kidnap victims, so I want our shift to have this case. Can you two handle it?"

"You up for it, Nick?" Catherine asked.

"Yeah, I'm good. We'll take care of it."

"Thank you," the entomologist said distractedly, as he left the room, his mind already moving on to other topics.

Glancing down at her watch, Catherine said, "Wow, it's 5:30 am already. Are you sure you're up for this? It's probably going to be another long morning."

"Yes, I'm fine," Nick said firmly.

"Okay, but it's going to be another long drive back out to Indian Springs Subdivision. Are you going to be able to stay awake this time?" the woman teased, as the two investigators gathered up all their paperwork.

"Yes, right now, I've got so much caffeine in my system that I don't think I'll sleep for a week. And if I drive then I'll definitely stay awake."

"Why do men always have to drive? What, we 'little ladies' are too delicate to handle it?" Catherine asked, as they started out of the breakroom.

"Nah, it's a control thing."

"Well, I'm not going to argue with that."

-----------------------------------------------------------------

It was 6:30 in the morning when they arrived at Indian Springs High School. The principal met them outside at the front of the building. He was a small, nervous man in his mid 40's with sparse, light brown hair and thick, black, plastic-rimmed spectacles. He introduced himself as Neil Denton.

"Look, I don't want to rush you people, but how long is this going to take? I mean, I don't want to sound disrespectful of the dead, but I would really like to have the... body out of here before the children start to arrive at 8:00," Denton said, wringing his hands and leading them through the hallways of the school.

"We understand, Mr. Denton," Catherine said. "We'll try to be as quick and as discreet as we can be, but we don't want to miss any crucial evidence. Has anyone from the Coroner's Office been here yet?"

"No, not yet." The man led them to the school's small theater and showed them inside. They stopped at the top of the recessed seating arrangement. A few hundred feet below and out from them, the lights of the stage were turned on, illuminating Capt. Brass, who was interviewing an elderly man in dark gray coveralls. Beside them, lying on the stage was a small blue bundle with bright blonde hair, presumably the body. The stage itself was decorated in a vaguely medieval style, with fake stone facades and one, more detailed building, with a low, 'stone' balcony.

"The Drama Club is putting on a performance of Shakespeare's 'Romeo and Juliet'," Denton explained to the two investigators.

"Were you the one who found the body?" Nick asked.

"Uh, no, that was Mr. Phelps, there. He's the custodian," Denton said, gesturing to the man talking with Brass. "He found the body and called the police then he called me."

"All right, Mr. Denton, if you don't have anything more to add, why don't you go out front and wait for the medical examiner?" Catherine suggested, noting how pale and agitated the little man was.

"Yes, splendid idea, I'll do that."

Heading down a side aisle at the left side of the theater, Nick and Catherine climbed the steps up to the wooden stage. Nodding their greetings to the stocky detective, the two investigators knelt down on either side of the body. The girl was around 5 or 6 years old. She was dressed in a light blue, satin gown, complete with long, white gloves. On her feet were white, patent leather slippers. Her long, blonde hair had been very carefully and very artfully curled into long ringlets, which framed her pretty face. There was a small, rhinestone tiara in her hair. Her eyes were closed. There were no visible wounds or marks on her.

"She looks like Sleeping Beauty," Nick said softly.

"She's obviously too young to be a student here, so the principal couldn't identify her," Brass said, coming to stand behind Catherine.

"That's okay, we know who she is," the female CSI said, looking up at the detective sadly.

"You do?"

"Samantha Dresher, age 6," Nick said softly. "She was the first girl kidnapped. She's been missing since early last week."

The four adults were silent as the two investigators proceeded to photograph the sad little figure from several different angles. To Nick, she looked like a life-sized version of those porcelain dolls that his grandmother used to collect. He found the whole thing slightly nauseating and for a moment, he thought his stomach might actually rebel. Taking a deep breath, he forced the nausea aside.

"Uh, Mr. Phelps, the janitor here, says that he found the body at about 5:00, when he arrived and began his rounds of the school," Brass said, bringing them all back to reality. "He said one of the side doors had been forced open."

"Yeah, this was just a body dump," Catherine said. "I seriously doubt she was killed here. I think our killer just wanted her to have... the proper setting."

"What do you make of the way she's dressed?" the detective asked. "I mean, maybe we can get a lead from the dress. It looks pretty elaborate and it was obviously made to fit her."

"No, it's just a standard Cinderella costume. You can get one just like it at any Disney Store across the country. Trust me, Lindsey had one too."

This discussion was interrupted by the arrival of David Phillips and his attendants. As the young M. E. climbed the steps of the stage and moved to stand over the body, he gave a heavy sigh. "I really hate these kinds of cases," he said softly.

Nick moved aside to give the coroner's assistant room to do his thing. David knelt beside the child and looked her over, not yet touching her.

"No visible marks or injuries," he said, musing out loud. Reaching out, he lifted one of the girl's eyelids. "There's petechial hemorrhaging around the irises, but no marks on her neck. She was probably suffocated rather than strangled. We'll know more when we get her back to the morgue."

"Time of death?" Catherine asked.

The M. E. inserted his large bore thermometer into the small body. "Liver temp's 91.6," he announced after a few seconds.

"So, she's only been dead for a few hours," Catherine commented. "Thanks, David."

The female CSI turned to her fellow investigator. "Well, I don't think we're going to learn anything more from this location. This isn't our primary scene."

"No," Nick agreed. He turned to the janitor. "Mr. Phelps, can you show us the door that you found forced open?"

"Oh, sure, right this way," the elderly custodian responded.

Leaving David and his crew to deal with the body and Brass to deal with the principal, Nick and Catherine followed Phelps as he led them down a hallway to a set of double doors, not far from the theater. The handle of one of the doors was obviously broken and that door wouldn't close properly. Thanking the janitor, they photographed and dusted the door for prints. They found plenty of partial and smeared prints. They even found a few usable ones, but they weren't holding out much hope for any of them. So far, their killer had been smart enough to wear gloves. They doubted he would suddenly forget to this time.

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Since they were on that end of town and Catherine had brought all of the paperwork with her, so they had Samantha Dresher's address, the two CSIs and the detective decided to deliver the bad news about Samantha right then. It only took about fifteen minutes for them to drive to the Dresher's house from the high school.

It was an ostentatiously large, brick affair, with more house than lawn. The three law enforcement officers were shown inside by a slender, very young maid, who led them to an immaculate, formal sitting room, professionally decorated in shades of taupe. The room was obviously intended to be warm and inviting, but was somehow not; perhaps because one couldn't help but feel like you had just stepped into a sterile Ethan Allen showroom.

After several minutes, where everyone was afraid to sit or touch anything, the maid returned and asked the group to follow her. She led them to the back of the house, to an airy, sun-lit four-season room, where the Dresher's had apparently just sat down to breakfast.

Nick and Catherine remained quiet while Brass introduced them and himself then gently told the Dresher's that the body of a young girl had been found that morning and they were fairly certain it was Samantha. He asked if the parents could come down to the county morgue and officially identify the body when they were ready to.

The pretty, blond couple simply sat at their glass-topped, wrought-iron table and stared blankly at the detective. Both appeared to be in shock. They had obviously not been prepared for the possibility that they might not get their daughter back alive.

"Mr. and Mrs. Dresher, I'm not sure if you're aware of this or not, but two other girls about Samantha's age have also been kidnapped," Catherine said gently. "We have reason to suspect that these kidnappings may all be linked. I'm going to show you some photographs of the other two girls. Can you tell me if they were friends of Samantha's?"

Opening one of the file folders, the red-head produced two 5x7 photos, one of Tiffany Metcalfe and one of Ashley Russell, the second girl taken. Catherine laid the pictures on the table between the Dresher's. The couple eyed them dully.

"No, I've never seen either of these girls before," Mrs. Dresher said in a flat voice.

"Do either of you know James or Angela Metcalfe?" Brass asked. "They live a few blocks from here."

Both parents shook their heads.

"How 'bout Bruce or Eileen Russell?"

Again there was a negative response.

While Brass and Catherine continued to speak gently with the Dresher's, Nick stood awkwardly in the background. He was uncomfortable witnessing these people's grief. Samantha was their only daughter and now she was gone. They didn't need LVPD intruding in their lives at this moment, even if the questions were necessary. With a sigh, he shifted his gaze to the table, away from Tanya Dresher's dead, blue stare. As his eyes fell on the carefully laid table, he absently noted a white, square, cardboard box with the name McCormick Bakery stamped on the lid.

He gave his head a slight shake. He had started to zone out for a moment. Whether this was due to his cold, lack of sleep, or the recent strange dream, he wasn't sure. But for a moment, he thought he had heard that irritatingly familiar tune that Tiffany had been humming in the dream. He still couldn't think of what the tune was.

Glancing over at Catherine, he saw she was watching him with narrowed eyes. He knew what she was thinking: Are you okay? He gave her what he hoped was a reassuring smile and tried to force his mind back to the business at hand.

Thanking the Dresher's for their time and offering awkward, but sincere, condolences for their loss, Brass herded the two CSIs out of the opulent, grief-filled house. Outside, they consulted the paperwork again and discovered that the Russell's lived only a few blocks away. As they were still in the neighborhood, they decided to head over to chat with them.

The Russell home was very similar to the Dresher's, large, brick, showy. A tall, thin woman with tired eyes and mouse-brown hair answered the door at their knock.

"Can I help you?" she asked.

"Are you Eileen Russell?" Brass asked.

"Yes, and you are...?"

Once again, Brass introduced himself and the two CSIs and asked if he could speak to the wife and her husband about their daughter. The woman nodded and stepped aside to allow them entry. She led them to the kitchen, where Bruce Russell was just getting up from the breakfast table and pulling on his sport coat, probably about to head off to work. Seeing the detective and the CSIs, with their black field vests, he hesitated.

"Do you have some news about Ashley?" he asked.

Brass glanced at the table, where a young boy, about 9 or 10 years old, sat eating a bowl of cereal. "Uh, no, I'm afraid I don't. I'd just like to ask you and your wife a few questions." Opening the folder he carried, he took out the photos of Tiffany and Samantha. He laid them on the table. "Have either of you seen these girls?"

The husband shook his head immediately. Eileen leaned closer and carefully examined the pictures for a moment before she also shook her head. "No, I've never seen either of them," she said. "Who are they? Were they kidnapped also?"

"Yes, I'm afraid so. We're trying to determine if there's any kind of connection between the three girls," Brass said gently.

While the detective continued to question the Russell's about whether or not they knew the Dresher's or the Metcalfe's, Nick wandered closer to the table, where the boy seemed to be trying very hard not to draw attention to himself.

"Hey, Buddy, what's your name?" Nick asked gently.

"Jeremy," the boy said, very softly.

"Have you ever seen either of these girls, Jeremy?" the CSI asked, gesturing to the photos.

"Um, the red-haired girl looks kind of familiar. I think I've seen her at school. I don't know her name, but she plays soccer with us sometimes at recess. She's pretty good, you know, for a little girl. I've never seen the blonde girl."

"So, you've never seen them with your sister?"

"No. I'm positive they're not friends of Ashley's. I mean, Ashley's not into sports. She does ballet."

Nick nodded. "Thanks, Jeremy."

As the CSI was about to turn his attention back to his colleagues, he noticed a loaf of bread on the table with a sticker on the plastic wrapper that bore the name McCormick Bakery. Noting his stare, Mrs. Russell moved closer to him.

"Is something wrong?" she asked.

"No, Ma'am, I'm sorry," Nick said, with a smile. "Uh, where is this bakery?" He gestured toward the loaf of bread.

"It's not far outside the subdivision. It's a very good bakery. Everyone goes there."

"Oh, thank you," he said, with a nod. Turning to Catherine, he found her watching him with an odd expression.

"Are you ready to go, Nick?" she asked.

"Yeah, I'm good."

They thanked the Russell's for their time and left the house.

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Back at the P. D. complex, Nick and Catherine stopped in at the morgue, to see if anything had been done with Samantha Dresher's body. Dr. Robbins informed them that he had done a quick, preliminary exam, but hadn't gotten to the autopsy yet. He was quite backlogged, so it would be a while before he could get to her.

"From my initial exam, I can tell you that she died of asphyxiation. I don't anticipate the autopsy will change that assessment. From the lack of ligature marks on the neck, I would say she was smothered as opposed to strangled."

"Yeah, that's what David said, too," Catherine commented.

Robbins nodded somberly at that. "I can also tell you that she was raped. Seeing that, I checked for semen, but didn't find any. Your killer must have worn a condom."

Nick and Catherine glanced at each other and scowled. There were times, like right now, when Nick truly hated his job.

"I'll let you know if the autopsy or the tox screen turn up anything noteworthy," Robbins promised.

"Thanks, Doc," Catherine said.

She and Nick headed back to the lab. They had only just stepped into the breakroom, when Grissom entered behind them.

"Oh, good, you're back. I'm rounding up the rest of the team. I want everyone to sit down and discuss what we know so far. You two can get us up to speed on the two earlier cases," the supervisor said. "Wait here, I'll get everyone else."

Catherine sighed and watched the man's back as he retreated down the hall, with that odd, short-stepped, bow-legged gait of his. She never could figure out where he got all his boundless energy from. She wanted to solve this case as much as the next person, but she was exhausted. How is it that he wasn't? With that thought in mind, she turned to her companion.

"Hey, how're you holding up?" she asked.

'Hmm?" Nick looked up at her, as though startled out of a daze. "Oh, I'm okay."

She continued to watch him for a moment, but said nothing. They each pulled out a chair on opposite sides of the table and sat down to wait for the others. Catherine laid the paperwork down and began shuffling through it, trying to arrange it in some coherent order. Nick simply sat watching her, mesmerized by the movements of her hands.

The others began filing in about five minutes later, including Capt. Brass. Everyone found seats around the big breakroom table. Grissom entered last, carrying a lightweight aluminum easel, with a large, white marker board. He set the easel up at the head of the table and turned to address his team.

"Okay, Catherine and Nick have been going over Day Shift's reports on the first two kidnappings," Gil began, getting right down to business. "They believe that all three cases are related, as we suspected. The same M. O. was used in all three cases. Now, I want to try and come up with some kind of victim profile. I want to know what he's looking for. I want to know what the similarities between all the cases are. What are the differences? Let's start with the victims. Catherine, tell us about the first two girls."

"Well, first of all," the red-haired CSI said. "The DB you sent Nick and I to check out this morning was Samantha Dresher, the first girl taken. So, these aren't just kidnapping cases any more. It's rape and murder now."

A heavy silence greeted this news.

Catherine continued. "The girl's body was definitely dressed and posed. She was left on the local high school's stage. They were doing a production of 'Romeo and Juliet.' The girl had been dressed up like a princess, Disney Store Cinderella costume, hair curled... she even had a little rhinestone tiara."

As she had spoken, Grissom taped three small photos of the girls to the top of the white board. He turned back to Catherine and gestured for her to continue.

"Uh, similarities between the girls would be that they were all about the same age, 6 or 7 years old, they lived in the same subdivision. All three girls came from wealthy, two-parent households. All three went to the same elementary school, but apparently weren't friends with each other. None of the parents seemed to know each other either. I guess it's a pretty big school."

Grissom jotted these things down on the board as Catherine rattled them off. "What was different about the girls?" he asked.

"Well, first of all, their physical appearances. Samantha Dresher was blonde and blue-eyed. The second girl, Ashley Russell, had brown hair and eyes. And Tiffany Metcalfe had red hair and brown eyes. Uh, Ashley Russell has an older brother. Both Samantha and Tiffany are only children. There don't seem to be any similarities between the parents' occupations... I don't know, at this point, age and proximity seem to be the major similarities between the girls."

"So, I think it would be safe to say that our kidnapper either lives or works somewhere near the Indian Springs Subdivision," Grissom said, examining his handiwork on the white board. "So, who would have access to all three households? Didn't the Metcalfe's mention a landscape company?"

"Yeah, they did, hang on," Brass spoke up, flipping through his own notebook. "Yeah, here it is, the Green Man Landscape Company."

"Hmm, that's kind of a pagan name," Sara commented. "I wonder if they did any work for the other two families."

"Just a minute," Catherine said, scanning the paperwork. "Yes, they worked for the Russell's as well. I don't see anything for the Dresher's though."

"We should still look into it," Grissom said.

"I'll do that," Brass volunteered. "Sara can come with me, since she's knows so much about paganism and all."

"Gee, thanks," the woman said dryly.

The detective gave her a quick wink from across the table.

"Warrick, what did you find out about those tire marks you found in the grass?" Gil asked.

"Oh, uh, according to the vehicle database, we're looking for some kind of mini-van or a small pickup truck," the younger man responded.

"Pickup truck, huh?" Brass mused. "Kind of like what a landscape company would use..."

"Bakeries often use mini-vans as delivery vehicles," Nick said softly, almost speaking to himself.

"Excuse me?" Grissom asked.

Realizing that he had spoken out loud and that everyone was looking at him, Nick said, "Oh, uh, I happened to notice baked goods from a McCormick Bakery at all three of the houses. I asked Mrs. Russell about it and she said the bakery was not far from the subdivision. She said that 'everyone goes there.' I don't know if it means anything. I just happened to notice it."

"Well, it's something," Grissom said. "We don't have much else to go on. We should probably check that out as well."

The team continued to discuss the kidnapper's M. O., speculating on the type of ladder he would have used to get to the second story windows, but Nick was no longer listening. His mind was drifting back to the image of Samantha Dresher's body. She had looked like Sleeping Beauty. In his dream of Tiffany, she had worn a hooded, red cloak, like Little Red Riding Hood. Little girls and fairy tale imagery. There was magic in fairy tales, but danger as well, especially to pretty little girls. The original, uncensored stories by the Brothers Grimm were very grim indeed, graphic cautionary tales which warned of the dangers of being pretty and careless. Evidently in their world, it was much safer to be a plain girl, they were largely ignored. Of course, you wouldn't want to be an ugly girl either. The ugly girls met the worst fates of all...

"Nick!"

He looked up guiltily at Catherine. She had apparently been calling his name for a minute or so.

"You're still not feeling well, are you?" she asked.

"I'm fine."

"You're not feeling well?" Grissom asked, eyes narrowing.

"I said I'm fine. Would everyone, please, stop trying to mother me!"

Sara, who was sitting beside him, turned and ran a hand over his forehead and cheeks. "You're warm. I think you might have a fever," she said.

"It's just a cold," he said, scowling at her.

She gave him an apologetic smile and shrugged.

"Go home, Nick," Gil said firmly. "Get some sleep. See how you feel tonight."

"I'm okay, Gris. I want to help with the case."

"Help with what, Nick? We've got next to nothing to work with. Go home. I'm sure the rest of us will be heading there shortly as well."

Looking around the table and seeing no one who looked particularly sympathetic to his cause, Nick gave a resigned sigh and left the room.

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The soft chirupping of crickets broke the silence. The warm afternoon sun broke intermittently through the dense leaves, high overhead, shining down from a vivid blue sky. The forest was still. The occasional distant cry of a blue jay broke up the monotony of the incessant droning of the insects. Nick lay in his clear, plastic coffin and listened to the sounds of life all around him.

There was no lid to his coffin and it sat above ground this time, nestled amid a bed of lily of the valley, in the middle of a clearing, surrounded by dense forest. He could see around him, but he couldn't move. He could only lie, still as a statue, watching his world, but unable to interact with it.

Hearing movement off to his right, he strained to see what was approaching his prison. He caught a brief flash of red. A face suddenly appeared above him, a blur of freckle-covered cheeks, wide brown eyes and thick, red curls. Tiffany smiled down at him. He wanted to smile back, but couldn't move. Slowly, she leaned closer and kissed him on the lips. There was nothing erotic about this kiss. It was the tight-lipped, perfectly chaste kiss of a child, but Nick suddenly found that he could move.

Tiffany stepped back and grasped his hand. He sat up slowly and looked around at the dense, broad-leaf forest. He didn't feel tired at all. He felt strong and refreshed. Turning back to his small rescuer, he smiled at the girl. She smiled back and tugged at his hand, urging him out of the coffin. Still holding her hand, he climbed out. Once he was standing beside her, she began pulling him towards the denser part of the forest.

"Where are we going?" he asked her.

She didn't answer, just smiled up at him and tugged his hand, urging him to move faster. He picked up his pace, but she only moved faster still. Soon they were running through the trees. Branches whipped Nick's face and tore at his clothing, but Tiffany somehow seemed able to slip effortlessly beneath them. Releasing his hand, she moved on ahead of him.

Nick ran three miles most days before heading in to work. He worked out regularly. He was in excellent physical condition and yet, he couldn't seem to keep up with the running child. She was moving further and further away from him. Soon, he could only see the flash of her red cloak as it fluttered out behind her.

"Tiffany!" he called to her. "Tiffany, wait for me!"

A sudden piercing scream rent the still air. The red cloak was nowhere to be seen. All around him was an endless sea of greens and browns. The child was gone.

"Tiffany!"

Nick sat up in his bed, in his house, his chest heaving as if he truly had just been running through a forest. He ran a slightly shaking hand through his damp hair. His bare skin was sweaty and he felt incredibly hot. He pushed the light blanket away and glanced at the clock on his nightstand. It read 3:00 in the afternoon. He still had a few hours before he needed to get up for work. His head was pounding. He lay back down and closed his eyes, trying very hard to ignore the sudden feeling of loss that threatened to overwhelm him. He also tried not to notice how still and empty his small house seemed.

To be continued...


	3. Chapter 3

8/27/05

BROTHER GRIMM

Chapter 3

The Office for the Green Man Landscape Company and Nursery was little more than a large, metal pole barn-type structure that sat on a several acres of farmed trees and carefully cultivated plants. Eight long greenhouses sat in neat rows behind the pole barn. A large, elaborate mural of a male face emerging from a seemingly random pile of oak leaves graced the side of the barn. Several concrete fountains and a couple of tall, rock 'waterfalls' stood outside the entrance to the barn, displaying the company's ability to handle water features.

As Sara and Brass entered the metal structure, it took a moment for their eyes to adjust to the relatively dim light of the barn after the brilliant sunshine outside. The front part of the building had been made into shop area. There was a cash register just to the left of the doorway and several species of house plants were on display for sale. To the right of the registers was a huge, glass-fronted refrigerator where cellophane wrapped bouquets of roses, carnations and gladiolas in every hue sat in plastic buckets, ready for purchase. The two law enforcement officers wandered around the shop for a few minutes, looking for a sales person.

"Hi, can I help you with something?" a very young, perky voice asked.

The CSI and the detective turned to find a petite girl in her early twenties, looking at them expectantly. She had close-cropped, dark hair and a small silver stud in her right nostril. She wore a light blue t-shirt, jeans and black, rubber flip-flops. Her toenails were painted a garish shade of bright green.

"Uh, yes, we'd like to speak to the owner, if that person is available," Brass said, showing the girl his badge.

The perky smile faded. "Oh, yeah, sure, Cheryl's in the back. Follow me."

She led them through a metal door, into a large office area. Another young woman, in almost identical clothing to the girl leading them, sat at a desk doing some kind of paperwork. She didn't look up as they passed her. At the back of this office space was another metal door. A name plate on the door read 'Cheryl Pender.' The girl knocked. A low, female called for them to enter.

Opening the door, the girl leaned into the room and said, "Sorry to bother you, Cheryl, but there's a cop here to see you."

"A cop? ... Okay, sure, let him in."

The girl stepped away from the open doorway and gestured for Sara and Brass to enter. Inside, they found another office, smaller than the first one, but more comfortably furnished. The desk was a large antique. There was a small window beside the desk and several hanging plants were lined up across the rod, in lieu of curtains. A large area rug covered the concrete floor. The smell of hazelnut coffee permeated the small room, emanating from a coffeemaker, sitting on a small sideboard behind the desk.

The woman behind the desk stood as they entered. She was a tall woman, easily as tall as Sara, with a similar long-legged, slender build. She appeared to be in her mid-50's. Her skin was heavily tanned and bore that leathery look that people who have tanned all their lives get. Her hair was long and hung in a single braid almost down to her waist. It was almost pure white, giving her a slightly Native American appearance. She had small, round, gold-rimmed spectacles and wore a loose, white tunic made of some gauzey fabric. She wore no make-up or jewelry. Everything about her screamed 'aging hippy.'

"I'm Cheryl Pender, the owner. What can I do for you?" she said in a tone slightly warmer than frigid. She did not offer her hand to shake.

"My name is Jim Brass. I'm with the Las Vegas Police Department. This is Sara Sidle. She's with the Crime Lab. We'd like to ask you a few questions about your maintenance crews."

"Is that right? Do you have a search warrant?"

Jim sighed. "I don't need a search warrant to ask you a few questions. Although if you're going to be that uncooperative, I can always get one, shut down your business for several hours and seize all of your paperwork, if that's what you'd prefer."

Sara quickly stepped forward. "Ma'am, we're investigating the disappearance of three little girls. One of them has already been murdered. Is there a reason why you don't want to help us with this investigation?"

The woman's expression softened somewhat. "Is this about those little girls over in Indian Springs?"

"Yes, Ma'am."

Cheryl Pender sighed and sat back down. Reluctantly, she gestured for them to take the two padded, vinyl chairs which sat in front of the desk. "What do you want from me?" she asked.

"We've spoken to the parents of all the girls. They all confirmed that your company does the lawn maintenance for their houses," Brass said.

"Yes, we do the maintenance for a lot of the houses in Indian Springs. Are you suggesting that someone in one of my crews is the kidnapper?"

Ignoring this question, Brass continued with his own, "Do your crews have ladders on their trucks?"

"We have ladders here at the shop. We use them mostly for setting up the displays. My maintenance crews do only basic upkeep. They mostly mow lawns and trim hedges. There's not much need for a ladder to do any of that," Pender said coldly.

"No, I suppose not," Brass said with an overly friendly smile. "But apparently they do have access to ladders."

"Yes."

"Are your crews all men?"

"Primarily, yes."

"About how many do you employ?"

"I have three crews of two. That would make six, one of whom is female," the woman said, in a tone one would use with a very slow child.

"So, you employ five men in your maintenance crews. Yeah, even us 'pigs' can do basic math," Jim said, his tone meticulously courteous. "Do any of these men come in contact with the children of the households?"

"They would have no reason to, but some of the children are very friendly. If the children come up to them, they're going to respond. It would be rude not to, don't you think? Look, my guys are all decent, hard workers. They wouldn't be working for me if they weren't."

"Then you wouldn't mind allowing Ms. Sidle here to take DNA samples from each of them, would you?"

"Oh, there it is! I knew it! I know how you people work. You come in here, claiming to be trying to find those little girls. You get DNA samples from my guys and then you use them to frame my guys for crimes they didn't commit. Well, I know my rights! I know you do need a warrant to get DNA samples!"

"Fine," Brass said. "We'll get one and be back."

"You do that! Now, get the hell out of my office!"

"Well, she's quite a pleasant one," Brass commented dryly, as they were climbing into his Taurus. "There's a lot of anger there. I always love dealing with people of that generation. They always have such wonderful opinions of the police."

Sara gave him a sympathetic smile, but said nothing.

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It was nearing 11 AM, when Catherine and Warrick entered the McCormick Bakery. It was a large, brick building, with green and white striped awnings and an outdoor patio area, where people sat drinking coffee and eating delicate pastries. Inside, were more small, round cafe tables and more expensively dressed, pretty people. There were children everywhere. Most of the women sitting at the tables seemed to be stay-at-home mothers or nannies and they apparently felt perfectly safe in allowing their kids to roam wherever they pleased.

There were two counters in the store. One, where the coffee orders were taken and where a large, glass display case showed the various pastries for sale. Behind this counter, several baskets, with a variety of bagels were also available. The other counter, located at the other end of the store, was evidently where special orders were taken, bulk orders and orders for wedding and birthday cakes. Displayed on long racks between these two counters were more specialty bread items, packaged muffins and scones. The place smelled heavenly, a mixture of coffee, cinnamon and steamed milk, with a slight undertone of yeast.

Seeing that the young woman behind the special orders counter was free, the two CSIs moved to speak with her. As she looked up and gave them an expectant smile, they saw that she was an open-faced woman in her late twenties. Her dark hair was pulled up in a bun. Like all the other employees, she wore a white t-shirt and jeans, with a long, white apron over these. She had a pen tucked behind her right ear. Pinned to her apron was a name badge, which read 'Mary.'

"Can I help you?" she asked.

The two investigators showed their IDs and Catherine introduced herself and Warrick.

"Crime Lab?" the woman repeated, looking confused, but not particularly alarmed. "What's this about?"

"We're investigating a series of kidnappings in the area," Catherine said. "We're just trying to find any kind of links between the victims. We understand that this bakery is very popular in the area. For all we know this could be where the kidnapper hangs out to find his victims. There certainly are a lot of children around."

"Oh, yeah, we give the kids free cookies. It's good for business."

"Well, business certainly seems to be doing well."

"Yeah, the business has been in my family for generations. We have two other stores as well. One in Reno and one in San Bernadino, but this was the first store."

"So, you do all of your baking here?" Warrick asked, looking around. "This place doesn't look big enough for that kind of an operation."

"Oh, no, we only bake the small stuff here, the pastries, the bagels, that kind of stuff. We have our own bakery for the other stuff, like the breads and the specialty cakes. It's not open to the public. It's located just outside the city."

"So, who's in charge of the business?" Catherine asked.

"Oh, that would be my oldest brother, Michael."

"May we speak to him?"

"Sure, hang on, I'll get him," the woman said and she turned and disappeared through a swinging door that stood behind the counter.

A few minutes later, a short, slender man in his early-fifties stepped through the door and moved to the counter. He had close-cropped, gray hair, but a relatively smooth and unlined face. He had pale blue eyes that peered serenely at the two investigators from behind small, rimless glasses.

"You're with the Crime Lab. Mary said you wished to speak to me?" the man's voice was slightly high and very soft.

Once again, introducing herself and Warrick, Catherine said, "Mr. McCormick, we're investigating the disappearance of three little girls whom we believe may have been in this store at some point. Your bakery made a birthday cake for one of the girls, Tiffany Metcalfe..."

"Wait, just a moment," the man said. Turning, he took up a thin, laptop computer from a shelf behind him and set it on the counter. Opening the computer, he typed in a few words. "Yes, we sold a chocolate sheet birthday cake to Angela Metcalfe, with the words 'Happy Birthday, Tiffany.' It was delivered last Friday."

"Delivered? So, you have the Metcalfe's address on file?"

"Yes, we do."

"Do you have an address for Bruce or Eileen Russell? Or Erik and Tanya Dresher?"

The man typed some more. After a moment, he said, "Yes, it appears that we have made deliveries to both of their homes within the past year."

"Who has access to this computer?" Warrick asked.

"Well, pretty much any of my employees."

"So, this list isn't password protected?"

"Uh, no, it's not."

"How many employees do have?" Catherine asked.

"Uh, here at the store, we have about 25. We employ about 30 more at the bakery. I suppose, I should tell you that this is a family business. Most of my employees are related to me in some manner."

"Who does all your deliveries?" Catherine asked.

"That would be my younger brother, Tommy... You don't think Tommy had something to do with this, do you?"

"Why do you ask?" Warrick inquired. "Do you think he did?"

McCormick paused for a moment. "Well, it's just that Tommy has been so withdrawn lately... but I'm sure it's nothing, just a temporary lapse."

"Withdrawn...?" Catherine said, trying to draw out more information.

"Well, he just went through a rather messy divorce. He even lost custody of his daughter... He hasn't been dealing with it very well, but he would never hurt anyone. He loves children," McCormick added quickly.

"Does Tommy drive his own vehicle to make deliveries?"

"Uh, no, the bakery owns a mini-van for that kind of thing. You know, it has our logo painted on it."

"Mr. McCormick, do you happen to know where Tommy was last night?" Warrick asked gently.

"No, I'm afraid you'd have to ask him."

"Just for the record, where were you?" Catherine asked.

"I was at home, in bed by 9:00. I go in to the bakery at four in the morning, every morning. I spend about two hours there, helping get things set up for the day then I head here to open up the shop. I don't go out much at night."

"Can anyone verify that?"

"My wife, she was with me the whole time... Carla?" he called out across the store.

A tall woman with heavily graying dark hair, pulled up in a bun, stepped around the other counter and came to stand beside her husband. She had a tired, slightly pinched, expression, as if she hadn't had a good night's sleep in a very long time.

"Yes, Dear, what is it?" she asked her husband.

"These people are from the Crime Lab, they're looking into those kidnappings in the Indian Springs area. They want you to verify that I was home all last night."

"Well, yes, where else would he be?" the woman asked. "We don't have the time to go anywhere." To her husband, she said softly, "They're asking about your whereabouts, but not Tommy's?"

"Darling, ssshhh..." McCormick whispered. He smiled at the two investigators.

"Alright, thank you," Catherine said. She reached into her purse and produced a white business card. Jotting down a number on the back, she handed it to McCormick. "This is the lab's fax number. Could you please fax me a list of all your employees, along with their addresses?"

"Yes, of course, I'll get right on that. Although, I'm sure you're wasting your time. I'm sure none of us had anything to do with this."

"So, what do you think?" Catherine asked her companion, as they walked out to their vehicle. "Tommy Boy sounds like he could be a viable suspect."

"Yeah, I wonder if he's got a sixteen-foot ladder."

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Later that night, Nick was the first one to arrive at work. The others came straggling into the breakroom several minutes later. Everyone looked tired and somber. They poured themselves coffee and took seats in the lounge area in silence.

When Catherine entered last, she went immediately to Nick's side and slid a hand over his forehead. He sighed, but permitted the indignity without complaint. He knew that she was only demonstrating her concern.

"You're still warm," she said.

"I'm fine. I slept all day."

"You sure?"

"Yes, I'm fine," he said firmly, looking up at her with a determined expression.

"Okay," she said, dropping the subject and seating herself on the couch beside Warrick.

A few minutes later, Grissom and Brass entered together. While Gil took a seat with the rest of the team, Brass continued standing so he could address the group.

"I've gotten the background checks back on some of the players in our little tragedy. Rosa Moreno, the Metcalfe's nanny is clean. She's got no priors. She's a widow, a legal citizen, husband served in the Air Force, died in a car accident shortly before Rosa went to work for the Metcalfe's. And she had no access to the other two girls. Same with the Dresher's maid.

"Unfortunately, we don't have much else to go on. I'm still working on a warrant for DNA samples for the landscape company. And on a personal note, I'm really hoping the investigation heads in that direction."

"Oh, you're just pissed that the owner was rude to you," Sara teased lightly.

"Hey, she hurt my feelings," the detective said in an exaggeratedly wounded tone.

Everyone smiled at this improbability, but no one bothered to contradict it. Catherine produced several sheets of fax paper and handed them to the detective.

"These are a list of employees for McCormick Bakery," she said. "That ought to keep you out of trouble for a while."

Brass gave her a wry smile and looked over the papers. "Thomas McCormick," he read. "Why is his name highlighted?"

"He's the owner's brother," Warrick spoke up. "We think he might be your best candidate. He's the delivery guy. He's made deliveries to all three families and the delivery truck is a mini-van... That was a good call on the bakery, Nick."

The other man gave a nod in acknowledgement of the compliment, but didn't say anything. He saw Grissom turn to face him, one eyebrow cocked in a questioning manner. Nick knew the supervisor wasn't questioning his hunch, but his presence. The younger man returned the stare with one of his own, once which clearly said, I dare you to send me home again. To his mild surprise, Grissom looked away without comment.

"Oh, and just so everyone knows, the press has decided to jump all over this case," Brass said. "They found out about the whole princess costume thing and they've decided to call our guy 'Brother Grimm.' Aren't they clever? So, an-."

He was interrupted in the mid-sentence by the chirping of his cell phone. Excusing himself from the group, he stepped a few feet away and answered his phone. As he was doing that, Mia entered the room, bearing a folder. Stepping up to Grissom, she opened the folder and removed a printout and handed it to him.

"The results from the semen sample you found at the Metcalfe's home. It matches the samples taken from the previous two cases. It's definitely the same guy," she said. She took another printout from the folder and handed that to Grissom as well. "This is the result from the blood sample taken at the Metcalfe home. As you can see, it also matches the semen samples. I ran the samples through all the databases, still no hits."

"Thank you, Mia. Did Doc Robbins send over a semen sample taken from Samantha Dresher's body?"

"Yeah, he did. I haven't gotten to it yet. Although at this point, I think we can safely assume we're going to get a hat trick."

Grissom nodded sadly. "Run it anyway."

"Of course."

"Thank you, Mia," the supervisor said.

She gave him a slight wave in acknowledgement as she left the room.

Brass wandered back over to the group. "I just got a call from dispatch. A woman called in to say that she thought she saw a man dressed in black, 'carrying a child', enter Wallace Park. This was well after the park was supposed to be closed for the night. Wallace Park is not far from Indian Springs Subdivision. Anyone care to check it out with me?"

"Why don't we all go?" Grissom said. "It's not like we have a whole lot of evidence to process. If I remember correctly, Wallace Park isn't that big. The more searchers we've got, the quicker we'll be done."

"Excellent! I'll round up a few uniforms and we'll meet you out there."

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In fact, Brass was only able to get two uniformed officers. They met up in the small parking lot of the park. The officers had gotten there first and had already set the floodlights on their cruisers, to illuminate as much of the park as possible.

Heavy Maglite flashlights in hand, they split into three groups. Sara, Grissom, and one of the uniforms would search the children's play area. Catherine, Greg, and the other uniform would cover the area around the basketball and tennis courts. Brass, Warrick and Nick took the picnic tables and the small wooded lot that lay beyond them.

Before heading off to their designated search areas, Brass addressed the small group. "Okay, people, we do this by the book. We don't know if our guy is still out there somewhere. So, everybody stays within sight of each other. No wandering off alone. Everybody goes armed. That means you, too, Grissom."

The lead CSI smiled patronizingly and patted the gun in its holster on his belt.

"Good, Boy," Brass said, returning the smile in kind.

There were three neat rows of picnic tables which sat lined up beneath a series of crude, wooden shelters. Consisting of little more than peaked roofs set atop stout 4 x 4s, with clapboards covering the short sides, the longer sides were left open. They provided shade from the brutal Nevada sun and a screen from the odd rain squall, but still allowed for plenty of ventilation. Warrick and Brass took the first two rows of shelters, while Nick searched the last row, the one closest to the woods.

He moved methodically from shelter to shelter, sweeping each one with his flashlight in the same careful pattern, checking the shadowed areas, including the peaked roof overhead. They had been searching for nearly an hour and he was almost at the end of his row. He had found nothing yet and since no one else had called out or called on the radio, they hadn't found anything either. As he was moving through the next to last shelter, the beam of his flashlight swept across the woods on the other side and for a moment, he thought he saw a flash of red.

Abandoning the rest of his search, Nick moved to stand at the edge of the mowed area. He directed his flashlight into the trees, in the general direction he thought he had seen the odd flash of color. There it was again, a scrap of red cloth, flitting from one tree to another. Immediately flashing back to his dream of Tiffany running through the woods, Nick took off after the fluttering cloth, never even thinking to alert Brass or Warrick of his plans.

After completing the search of his row of shelters, Brass wandered over to Warrick, wanting to confer with the two younger men about where they should search next. Walking up beside the investigator, the detective glanced past him, to try and get Nick's attention. Seeing that the younger man was staring into the trees and aiming his flashlight in that direction, Brass turned to Warrick and gestured toward the other investigator.

"Hey, I think Nick's got something," he said.

Warrick turned to look as well. "Yo, Nick, you find something?" he called out.

As though he hadn't even heard the other man's call, Nick abruptly darted into the trees, immediately disappearing from sight of the other two men.

"What the hell is he doing?" Brass demanded. "Did I or did I not say, stay within sight of each other?"

"You did," Warrick confirmed, but he was already starting to sprint off in the direction of his fleeing partner.

Brass sighed. "I hate running," he said, to no one in particular as he began jogging after the younger man.

Nick tried to keep his flashlight trained on the fluttering scrap of red cloth, but that was difficult to do while running. Just like in his dream, he was having trouble keeping up with his quarry. It was dark and the terrain was unfamiliar. He stumbled a couple of times and only just managed to keep himself upright. Breathing heavily, a painful stitch in his side, he abruptly burst into a large clearing and came to a dead stop.

Standing on the far side of the clearing was Tiffany. The hood of her red cloak was pulled up and she was facing away from him. She was apparently looking down at something on the ground, but Nick couldn't see it. There was a large, fallen tree in the way. Hesitantly, he took a step toward the child. A twig snapped loudly under his foot. He froze as the girl's head jerked towards him. Her eyes looked huge and dark in the beam of his light, her face ghastly pale. She stood staring at him unblinking, ghostlike. He stood transfixed by that stare, unable to move.

"Nick!"

The sound of his name seemed to break the strange spell and reflexively he turned toward the voice. He could see the beams of Warrick and Brass' flashlights moving towards him. He could faintly make out their silhouettes not far behind.

Turning back to Tiffany, he found the girl was gone. He swept his light back and forth a few times, trying to catch a glimpse of her cloak, but he saw nothing. Moving the beam back to the spot where she had been staring, he slowly moved toward the fallen tree. Lying on the far side of the log, on a dark blue plaid blanket, was Ashley Russell.

Just like Samantha Dresher, she was made up like a princess. Her dark hair was curled and she wore a formal gown and gloves, although her dress was yellow. Her hands were folded neatly across her stomach. Like Samantha, there wasn't a mark on her, another Sleeping Beauty.

Slowly, Nick sank down to sit on the tree. Resting his elbows on his knees, he buried his face in his hands. He was suddenly incredibly tired and slightly light-headed. He was still sitting that way when Warrick and Brass found him a few minutes later. He raised his head as they approached. He didn't need to say a word; Warrick read everything in his friend's bleak expression.

"Oh, man..." the African-American groaned softly. "I was so hoping this was gonna be a false alarm."

Moving closer, the two newcomers could see the girl for themselves. Seeing the dead child and the completely defeated look on Nick's face, Brass couldn't bring himself to chew the younger man out for disobeying orders. He decided that little chat could wait for another time. Stepping away from the two investigators a few feet, he pulled out his radio and contacted the others. Replacing his radio with his cell phone, he called the coroner's office.

Catherine, Greg and their escort were the first to arrive at the clearing. Catherine moved close to the tree and leaned over to look at the girl. She gave a heavy sigh.

"Well, a Belle costume this time," she commented.

"Belle?" Greg asked.

"You know, from Disney's 'Beauty and the Beast'?"

"Oh, guess I'm not up on my Disney movies."

"I am."

"'Beauty and the Beast' isn't a Brothers Grimm story," Nick said softly.

"What?" Catherine asked.

"The story 'Beauty and Beast' wasn't written by the Brothers Grimm. It's a traditional French fairy tale."

"Whatever, I don't think our guy cares. It was the press that came up the Brother Grimm name. I think our guy just wants little princesses."

"Nick, how did find her?" Warrick asked gently.

"I don't know, I just came across her body," the other man mumbled, with a vague shrug.

"Dude, you were running flat out, like you knew exactly where you were going."

"No, I didn't, I just..." Letting his voice trail off, he looked up to find all of them staring at him expectantly. Finally, he sighed and said, "I had this dream earlier today..."

"You dreamt all this?" Greg asked. "You mean, like a precognition?"

"No," Nick said quickly. "No, it wasn't like that. It was... well, kind of... Look, I don't know how to explain it."

"Okay," Catherine said quickly, seeing that the Texan was starting to get agitated. "It's not important how we found her. All that matters is that we did. Now, let's just concentrate on looking over the scene immediately around the body. We can probably assume this was just another body dump, but we still have a job to do. Let's get back to work."

To be continued...


	4. Chapter 4

8/31/05

BROTHER GRIMM

Chapter 4

"Oh, man, this is just beyond creepy," Greg commented, looking down at the child lying on the stainless steel slab, still in her little yellow gown and tiara.

"Welcome to my world," Robbins said. "Let me know when you three are done with the preliminary exam and I'll take over from there."

Nick and Sara both nodded and the coroner turned and walked away, heading back to his autopsy backlog. Greg was still staring at the child, a troubled expression on his face. Seeing this, Nick put a hand on the younger man's shoulder.

"You want to bow out?" he asked quietly. "Look, man, these kinds of cases are rough on everybody. Sara and I will understand."

"No, no, I'm good. I can do this," Greg said firmly. "What do you want me to do?"

"Why don't you go over her dress?" Sara suggested. "She's got some leaves and stuff on her. Maybe they can tell us something about where she was before she was dumped in the park."

Sara herself had moved to the head of the metal table and was carefully removing the tiara and combing through the girl's hair. Nick was at the foot of the table, gently removing the girl's shoes, white, patent leather slippers, just like Samantha's.

"So, why do you suppose our guy dumped her in the park?" Greg asked as he carefully pawed through the many ruffles on the dress. "I mean, I understand the stage setting for Samantha, but what's with the woods? Is there something symbolic about that?" He looked up at Nick as he asked this question.

"Why are you looking at me?" the older man asked.

"Well, you seem to be the fairy tale expert, Mr. Beauty-and-the-Beast-is-Not-a-Brothers-Grimm-Story. That and you're the one with the freaky dreams..."

Nick sighed and rolled his eyes. "Look, my sisters used to read fairy tales to me as bedtime stories, okay? And yes, forests are featured prominently in many of the stories. They represented danger, the unknown. Only the foolish wandered into the forest alone and unprepared."

"You mean like you did?" Sara asked quietly, not looking at him.

Before he could respond to this, the moment was interrupted by Greg. "What the hell is that?" the former lab tech said, gesturing to something in the folds of the girl's dress.

Sara and Nick moved to stand on either side of the younger man and leaned in closer to see what he was pointing at. Nestled beneath the layers of translucent material, was a large beetle of some kind. It was about an inch long, with very distinct black and white striped markings and very long, curved, black antennae.

"Oh, I know what that is," Nick said, reaching down and gently plucking the insect up between his gloved forefinger and thumb. He held the immobile, and obviously dead, bug up for the others to get a better look at it. "It's a cottonwood borer."

"And how do you know that?" Greg asked. "Did you dream this too?"

"Would you shut up about the damn dream, Greg!" Nick snapped. "I'm from Texas. These things are fairly common there. As the name implies, they live in cottonwood trees, which we have all over our family ranch. My sister Allison and I used to catch these things and put them in my oldest sister Julia's bed... You never heard anyone scream so loud..."

"Remind me never to get on your bad side," Sara said.

He flashed her an evil grin.

"Did we find something interesting?"

All three jumped slightly. They had been so intent on the strange-looking bug that none of them had noticed Grissom's approach.

"Uh, yeah, we found a bug," Greg said.

Nick dropped the insect into Grissom's outstretched hand. The entomologist examined it for a few seconds. "Hmmm, plectrodera scalator, a cottonwood borer. A very nice specimen, too. They're not very common in Nevada. May I keep it for my collection?"

"It's yours," Greg said. "We found it on the victim's dress, but actually Nick already told us what it was."

"Really?" the supervisor said, turning his intent blue gaze onto the Texan. "May I have a word with you please, Nick?"

Without waiting for a response, the older man turned and left the autopsy room. Nick glanced at his fellow investigators for a second, before following after his boss. Out in the corridor, just outside the autopsy room, he found Grissom standing staring at the floor, apparently deep in thought.

"Look, Gris, I know I disobeyed orders by running off alone, but I-."

"That's not what I want to talk to you about," Gil interrupted.

"It's not?"

"No, I promised Brass I'd let him have the honor of conducting that lecture. No, I want to talk to you about how you found the body."

"What do you mean?" Nick hedged.

"Well, Catherine tells me that you had a dream about it?"

The younger man sighed and grimaced. "No, not exactly, I mean, I didn't dream about the exact location of the body or anything like that. It was... Why does it matter? I found her, isn't that enough?"

"Nick, if or when, this case goes to trial, there's a very good chance that you're going to be sitting on the witness stand and the defense attorney is going to ask you exactly how it was that you managed to find the body of a 6-year-old in the middle of a wooded lot, in the middle of the night, so quickly and easily. I want to know how you plan on answering that question."

"I don't know yet. Don't you think you're jumping the gun a little bit? We don't even know who our guy is."

"Nick, just tell me what happened. What led you into those woods?"

"Okay... I thought I saw something, something that reminded me of the dream I'd had earlier. I was just following what I thought I had seen."

"And what did you think you saw? Ashley?"

"No... Tiffany. I thought I saw Tiffany Metcalfe in the woods."

Grissom sighed and nodded. "That's what I was afraid of."

"What do you mean?" Nick asked, frowning.

"Janine warned me about this," Gil said, referring to the department psychologist who had treated all the members of the team immediately following Nick's crisis.

"Warned you about what, that I might have hallucinations?"

"That you might start identifying with the victims too much. That you might even have trouble separating yourself from the victims."

"That's what you think this is, that I'm seeing what I want to see because I'm identifying too much with Tiffany?"

"Well, she was abducted, without warning, taken from her own comfort zone, from a place where she was supposed to be safe... That does sound familiar, don't you think?"

Nick sighed and nodded, suddenly very uncomfortable with the entire conversation. "Are you going to take me off the case?" he asked softly.

"No, but I want you to promise me that when this is over, you'll go and see Janine."

"Okay, I promise... when it's over."

"And no more running off alone."

"I won't run off alone again," Nick promised.

"Alright, get back to work," Grissom said. He turned and left the morgue, headed back to the lab.

Nick stood for a moment in the corridor, thinking about the other man's words. Was that all his dreams were, by-products of his trauma and a low-grade fever? But they seemed so real. And when he'd seen Tiffany in the clearing, she hadn't seemed like a hallucination. She'd seemed to be made of flesh and blood... His head was beginning to ache. Giving the bridge of his nose a pinch, he returned to the autopsy room.

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"Okay, Tommy, we know that you've had a rough time lately. Wife left you, took the kid with her. That must be really frustrating for you," Brass said, leaning his elbows on the table of the interview room.

Sitting beside the detective was Warrick Brown and across from them was Tommy McCormick. LVPD had picked him up at a bar about an hour earlier. The man appeared not to have slept for several nights. His longish, dark hair was lank and dirty, his eyes bloodshot. He hadn't shaved in a couple of days. He stared at the detective apathetically and completely ignored Warrick.

"So, what do you do for your jollies now that you're a single man again?" Brass asked. "You get off looking at little girls?"

"I don't know what you're talking about," Tommy rasped in a voice as dry as the desert.

"This is about three little girls who were kidnapped from the Indian Springs Subdivision, two of whom are now dead. Does that ring any bells?"

"Yeah, I heard about that on the news. But why would I know anything about it?"

"Well, you made deliveries to all three of their houses this past year. Did you like what you saw? Little girls you could play dress-up with and fulfill your sick little fantasies?"

"Hey, I'm no short eyes!" the man snapped, showing some emotion for the first time. "I got a daughter of my own. I would never hurt a little girl."

"Yeah, right... Where were you earlier tonight? Where were you last night?"

"I been at that same bar where you picked me up, all night. Ask the bartender, I was slipping her some pretty hefty tips. I'm sure she'll remember me."

"And last night?"

Tommy had to think about that for a few minutes. Eventually, he said, "I was with some blonde I picked up at the High Roller."

"Does this blonde have a name?"

"Not one that I remember... Oh, wait, hang on..." The man rummaged in the pockets of his leather jacket. After a moment, he turned up a scrap of paper. He slid this across the table to the detective.

Brass picked it up and read the name 'Connie', along with a local phone number.

"Did you and Connie enjoy each others company all night?" the detective asked.

"'Til about 2 in the morning. That's when I have to go in to the bakery. You can ask the other employees. I was there right on time."

"Alright, tell you what, I'm going to go make some phone calls and verify whether you're telling me the truth about any of this. You're going to stay here. While you're waiting, Mr. Brown, here, is going to take a DNA sample from you. You got a problem with that?"

"Knock yourself out," Tommy said with a feral grin.

Warrick and Brass glanced at each other. It was never a good sign when the suspects gave up their DNA so quickly and easily.

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Later, the team was gathered in the breakroom, discussing the case. Brass told them that Tommy McCormick's alibis checked out. They were still waiting on the results of his DNA test, but he wasn't going to hold his breath on that. It appeared that Tommy was not their guy.

"Which lands us back at square one," The detective concluded. "We got nothing... Did Ashley's autopsy turn up anything new?"

"No, she was raped and asphyxiated, just like Samantha," Grissom said. "The only clues we got from her body, were a few leaves and a dead bug."

"Can you tell us anything from the bug?"

"Not really. It was a cottonwood borer, so at some point, she was probably near a cottonwood tree."

"Oh, that's helpful," Brass said dryly.

"Well, it might be at some point, but right now..." He gave a vague shrug.

"Well, I still say our two best leads are the landscape company and the bakery," Catherine said. "Hell, they're our only leads. They're the only things all three families had in common."

"It could be that our guy has nothing in common with the families. These could simply be random hits," Grissom pointed out.

"If that's the case then we'll never find him," Catherine said.

A long, uncomfortable silence followed this comment, as everyone digested the possibility that these cases could possibly go unsolved.

"I think we should go back to the bakery," Nick said abruptly.

Catherine glanced down at her watch. "Michael McCormick said that he went in to the bakery at 4 every morning. It's about that now, so he should be there. I think I'd like another chat with him. Care to join me, Nick?"

"I'd love to," he responded with a smile.

"Alright, in a couple of hours, I'll start leaning on Cheryl Pender again," Brass said. "Maybe another dead girl will give her the incentive to give up a list of her employees and a sample of their DNA. I'll also have my people dig into the backgrounds of the rest of Clan McCormick."

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Arriving at the bakery, a non-descript, squat, one-story building made of white-washed cinderblock, Nick and Catherine found the front entrance locked. The building was obviously not open to visitors yet. Seeing a buzzer beside the door, Catherine pressed it. After waiting nearly ten minutes and ringing the buzzer two more times, the door finally opened. Carla McCormick stared at them with tired brown eyes.

"What do you want?" she demanded.

"Mrs. McCormick, do you remember me? Catherine Willows, from the Crime Lab? I spoke to your husband and you the other day. This is Nick Stokes."

"Oh, yes, I'm sorry, I remember you now. It was about those missing girls. Why are you here now?"

"We'd like to ask you and your husband a few more questions, if that's alright?"

"Uh, I'm sorry, my husband's not here right now."

"Do you know where he is?"

"No, I'm afraid I don't. He was gone when I woke up this morning."

"Gone?" Catherine repeated. "Your husband left and you didn't hear him?"

"My husband and I don't actually sleep in the same room," Carla said uncomfortably. "I suffer from fibromyalgia. I'm in pain most of the time. I don't sleep well. I toss and turn a lot. It disturbs Michael, so he started sleeping in another room."

"How long has this been going on, that you and your husband haven't been sleeping in the same room?"

"Oh, for about five years now."

"So, it's entirely possible that your husband could leave the house in the middle of the night and you'd never know," Nick stated.

"Where would Michael go in the middle of the night? My husband is a good man. He doesn't keep secrets from me."

"Then where is your husband right now?" Catherine asked gently.

"I'm sure he's at the store. Something must have come up," Carla said in a small, plaintive voice.

"Does your husband do this often, not show up for work?" Nick asked.

"There are two locations. He usually comes here first, but sometimes he'll go to the store first. I'm sure there's a very good reason why he's not here. He'll be at one of the two locations. He doesn't need to check in with me. I trust my husband."

"I'm sure you're right. Thank you for your time, Mrs. McCormick," Catherine said.

Climbing back into Nick's SUV, the female investigator said, "I don't know about you, Nick, but I'm feeling a little peckish. What do you say we go and get some coffee and bagels?"

"That sounds like a great idea."

It was still too early for the store to be open, of course, but after knocking on the glass door for a few minutes, they finally managed to draw the attention of one of the employees. The boy appeared to be in his late teens. He was tall and painfully thin, with scruffy, dark hair and a bed case of acne. When they identified themselves, he told them to wait while he went and got Mary.

A few minutes later, the young woman Catherine and Warrick had spoken to the other day came to the door and allowed them inside. She dismissed the boy back to his duties and asked how she could help.

"We'd like to speak to your brother, Michael, if we could," Catherine said.

"I'm sorry, Michael's not here yet. He's probably still at the bakery."

"We just came from there. Mrs. McCormick said she thought he was here," Nick said.

"Um, I don't know what to tell you," Mary said with a slight shrug. "Maybe he's en route."

Thanking the woman, the two investigators returned to their vehicle.

"Interesting," Catherine said. "It seems that if McCormick doesn't show up to one location, everyone simply assumes he's at the other one. It doesn't appear that anyone ever actually checks up on him."

"How convenient," Nick commented.

"Yeah, isn't it?"

"Hey, Cath, can we make a detour on the way back to the lab?"

"Sure, where do you want to go?"

"Wallace Park. I want to check something at the site where we found Ashley's body."

By the time the two investigators arrived at the park, it was past dawn. Most of the sky was still a dark gray-blue, but the pink-orange glow from the east was starting to assert is dominance. The woods were still heavily shadowed, so they were still relying on their flashlights. Finding the spot where the body had been found wasn't difficult. The lot wasn't large and there was still yellow crime scene tape surrounding the perimeter of the location.

"Okay, what are we looking for?" Catherine asked.

"Cottonwood trees," Nick replied, training his flashlight on the ground, looking for the saw-toothed, triangular-shaped leaves that would indicate the presence of the tree. He saw nothing. More importantly, he saw no evidence of the cotton-like fibers that the trees shed copiously at this time of the year. If there was even one tree nearby, the ground would be littered with the fibers. There were none.

"Find anything?" the senior CSI asked.

"Nope and if there aren't any cottonwoods here, then the cottonwood borer we found on her dress didn't come from this location. It had to have come from the place where she was being held."

"And this helps us, how?"

"Well, cottonwoods like water. They tend to grow where there's a water source nearby, like a stream or something. How many streams can there be in this area? Maybe if we can locate all the streams or other water sources in the area, we narrow down our search."

"Maybe," Catherine said, suddenly feeling exhausted and discouraged. They had so little to go with this case, that she was having a hard time keeping her focus. Remembering her partner, she abruptly asked, "How are you feeling, Nick?"

"I'm fine," he said quickly. They had arrived back at the vehicle and he busied himself with fishing out his keys and unlocking the doors, conveniently avoiding Catherine's eyes.

"Honestly, would you tell me if you weren't okay?" she asked once they were both settled into their seats, with their seatbelts fastened.

"Probably not," he admitted, giving her a sheepish grin.

"Yeah, that's what I thought."

------------------------------------------------------------------

Back at the lab, they reported their findings to the rest of the team. Nick asked Brass if this was enough evidence for them to get a warrant to search McCormick's house. The detective said that he very much doubted it.

"But it is enough for me to justify doing some very serious digging into his background and to have a couple of uniforms check up on him from time to time."

"Alright, we're all tired," Grissom announced. "I want everyone to go home and get some sleep. That means you too, Sara. There's not much more we can do right now. We'll start fresh again tonight."

That night, Nick dreamed again. As in his previous dream, he found himself lying in his clear, plastic coffin, in the middle of the woods. As he lay, staring up at the sky, he noticed that it wasn't the same clear blue as before. It was now overcast and gray, a dark, uniform gray, that seemed to indicate impending rough weather.

Within minutes, he saw the snow coming, big, fat, fluffy flakes, like chunks of white cotton candy, floating lazily on the slight breeze. He felt no cold. Hell, he felt nothing at all, until he gradually became aware of the snowflakes brushing against his cheeks and nose, like light, feathery kisses. Abruptly, a face appeared above him. Tiffany leaned over, smiling down on him. The hood of her cloak, which was pulled up over her head, was already liberally coated with snow.

Once again, her light, chaste kiss freed him from immobility and she urged him out of the coffin. Taking his hand, she pulled him out into the clearing. Laughing and humming her strange song, she began twirling around, reveling in the novelty of the snow. He couldn't help but smile at her youthful abandon and her utterly unself-conscious joy. She urged him to twirl and dance with her, but he felt suddenly old and awkward beside her. He felt a strange sense of loss and sadness as he watched her...

When he awoke moments later, he found that his face and pillow were damp.

To be continued...


	5. Chapter 5

9/5/05

BROTHER GRIMM

Chapter 5

After catching only a few hours of sleep, Nick returned to the lab. He ignored the burning sensation behind his eyes and the pounding in his head and forced himself to concentrate on his work. He was in one of the labs, pouring over every map he could find of Vegas which included the Indian Springs Subdivision, looking for any streams, ponds, or other sources of water where cottonwoods might grow. As he looked over the maps, he absently hummed the tune that Tiffany always hummed in his dreams.

"'Do You Know the Muffin Man?'"

"What?" Nick asked, jumping slightly and turning to find Catherine standing in the doorway behind him.

"Sorry, I didn't mean to startle you," she said, smiling. "But the song you were humming... it's 'Do You Know the Muffin Man?' I take it you've already heard the news?"

"What news?"

"We got the results back on Tommy McCormick's DNA sample."

"It matches the semen samples?"

"No, but there are enough alleles in common to indicate a close relative."

"Michael McCormick."

"No one's seen him all day," Catherine confirmed.

"Do we have a warrant for his house?"

"Brass is working on it... What are you working on?"

"Checking the subdivision for sources of water."

"Find anything?"

"Not within the subdivision, but I found a stream not far from it. It's also runs right by the bakery."

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The team was gathered in the breakroom, everyone having just arrived for the evening. As they were talking, Brass walked in waving a folder with an expression of triumph.

"I just got the background check on Michael McCormick," he said. "It seems our boy only just moved back to the Vegas area a year ago. He came back here to take over running the business after his father died. Before that, he was running the store in San Bernadino. I spoke to the PD there and apparently our boy McCormick was the prime suspect in the rape and murder of a six-year-old girl. Unfortunately the case never panned out due to lack of evidence. Apparently he's gotten a little sloppier since then."

"We need to get inside McCormick's house," Grissom said.

"I'm all over it. We should have a warrant within the hour."

"So, where is McCormick's house, by the way?" Nick asked.

Brass consulted his notebook then rattled off the address. Without a word, the younger man abruptly stood and left the room. Everyone watched him go, stunned by this unusually Grissom-esque behavior.

"Was it something I said?" the detective asked dryly.

Nick returned a few minutes later with one of the maps he'd been looking at earlier. He laid the map out on the breakroom table and indicated a spot on it.

"This is where McCormick lives," he said. "This is the bakery." He moved his finger a fraction. "There's a stream that runs between them. I'm betting there're cottonwoods out there... This is where he holds the girls. This is where Tiffany is."

To his surprise, his words were greeted with silence. Everyone glanced at each other uncomfortably.

"We found a cottonwood borer on Ashley's dress," Nick reminded the others. "Cottonwoods like water. It makes sense they would grow near the stream..."

The others still didn't seem to be as excited about this connection as he was.

"Nick," Grissom began gently, "the cottonwood borer can also be found on poplars and willows. It didn't necessarily come from a cottonwood tree and even if it did, you don't know there are cottonwoods near McCormick's house. Look, I just don't want you to pin all your hopes on this. We have no idea where McCormick might be keeping Tiffany."

"She's here," the younger man insisted, pointing at the same spot on the map. "I know she is."

Grissom sighed and gave the Texan an almost pained look. "And this theory is based on what, Nick, another dream?"

The younger man said nothing, but turned and left the room.

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The warrant finally came through shortly after dusk. The entire team, plus Brass and three uniformed officers descended on McCormick's house, which was located on a two-acre, wooded lot adjacent to the bakery. The house itself had apparently been in the family for as long as the business. It was a large, brick, Italianate Victorian with a wrought-iron fence surrounding it.

While Brass and the uniforms knocked on the front door and served the warrant to Carla McCormick, who claimed her husband had still not come home, Grissom gathered his team on the front lawn to divvy out their search assignments.

Before he could begin, Nick spoke up. "I'm taking the back of the house." He didn't even wait for an acknowledgement of this statement before he was walking away toward the back yard.

Grissom watched the other man's retreating back for a moment, his eyes narrowed.

"I'll stick close to him," Warrick volunteered.

The supervisor nodded then returned to his team, directing Sara and Greg to search upstairs, while he and Catherine would search downstairs. At Brass' signal, they marched purposefully toward the house, kits in hand.

At the back of the house, Warrick had to jog to catch up to the Texan. "Nick, hold up!" he called out.

The other man stopped and turned to his friend. "Grissom send you to baby-sit me?"

"Hey, come on, this area hasn't been cleared by P.D. yet. You shouldn't be out here at all, let alone on your own. It's procedure, man. You, of all people, should know that."

"Yeah, I know, sorry."

"So, where do you want to start?"

"Well, I'm heading back toward the creek. You can do whatever you want."

"Lead on," Warrick said.

It didn't take them long to find the creek. After ten or fifteen minutes of walking, they came upon it and, as Nick had predicted, several tall cottonwoods stood on both banks.

Shining his flashlight up onto the leaves of the nearest tree, Warrick said, "Well, there're your cottonwoods."

The two men spread out a bit and swung their flashlights around, looking for any indication that someone else had been in the area recently. Noticing the trees' fluffy, whitish fibers floating on the light breeze, Nick was reminded of his most recent dream of Tiffany. The cotton-like fibers weren't dissimilar to snowflakes. Immediately he knew that the girl was close by. He didn't know where yet, but she was close. His sense of urgency renewed, he cast the beam of his flashlight closer to the ground. As he did, he caught sight of a small, wooden shed. He headed towards it.

The shed was obviously original to the estate. It was very old, with thick, cracked panes in the small windows. The white paint had almost completely flaked away and the exposed wood beneath was bleached almost white by the intense, Nevada sun. There was a narrow door on one side and Nick tried the rusty handle. It wasn't locked. The door swung open reluctantly on stiff, rusted hinges.

Warrick, who was still back at their original position, turned to speak to his partner, only to find that he was alone. He looked around and spotted the shed, just in time to see Nick disappear inside. Warrick gave an exasperated sigh. I swear, the next time I'm paired with Nick, I'm bringing a leash, he vowed silently, trotting toward the small structure.

Inside the shed, Nick found it filled with old, rusted yard tools, clippers, shovels, rakes, a push mower, and several ladders of varying heights. A large area in the center of the dirt floor had been cleared, all of the tools and boxes shoved to one side. The dirt appeared to have been disturbed recently. Setting his kit aside and grabbing a small hand spade from a dusty shelf, the investigator knelt beside the disturbed area and began scraping away the dirt.

"What are you doing?"

Nick looked up to find Warrick standing over him, looking confused and somewhat concerned.

"This dirt has been disturbed. I think something's buried under here," the Texan explained, continuing to work.

The other man made no move to help. Warrick watched his friend's frantic actions with growing alarm. There was no reason to suspect that there was anything under the dirt. He couldn't see that the patch where Nick was digging looked any different from the rest of the floor. Was the other man having some kind of flashback to his own abduction? Was this some kind of breakdown? Was he now obsessed with the idea of victims buried alive?

"Nick," Warrick began gently, "stop, please. There's nothing down there."

"She's down here, Warrick, I know she is!" the other man snapped. There was a definite note of desperation in his voice. "Are you going to help me or not!"

The African-American investigator stood for several minutes, debating what he should do. Should he humor the other man and help him dig? How much time would they waste before Nick came to his senses? And what if he didn't? Should Warrick summon Grissom? Or should he simply man-handle the other man out of the shed? Nick may have been more buff than him, but he still had a slighter build than Warrick and was a few inches shorter. Warrick was confident that if push came to shove, he could probably take the smaller man.

Warrick was distracted from his thoughts by the sound of metal connecting with wood, a dull, hollow sound, unmistakable in the tense silence. He looked down at the other man. Nick was looking at him with triumph in his eyes. There was something buried just beneath the dirt floor. He returned to his digging with even more energy. Still uncomfortable with the entire situation, but feeling chagrined, Warrick grabbed a small shovel and helped his friend clear the dirt aside.

Within minutes, they had uncovered a wooden trap door. Apparently underneath the thick layer of dirt was a wooden floor. It was reminiscent of the hiding places people used during the Prohibition Era. Looking down at it, Warrick let out a long, soft whistle. He reached in a pocket of his field vest and took out his cell phone.

"I'll call Brass and have him clear this," he said, but quickly realized that he was speaking to himself.

Nick had already pulled the trap door open and was shining his flashlight into the darkness below. There was a steep, wooden staircase leading down into the void. Without pausing, he started down the stairs.

"Hey, what're you doing!" Warrick called out.

He watched as the other man reached the bottom of the stairs. He could barely make Nick out in the glow of his flashlight.

"Nick!" Warrick called down in a sharp whisper, not wishing to draw any unwanted attention to his potentially vulnerable partner.

The man in the cellar lifted his dark head and gazed up at his fellow investigator. Nick raised an arm gave a wave before moving further into the cellar and out of Warrick's line of sight.

"Damn it!" the African-American swore quietly, not knowing what that wave was supposed to mean. Was Nick indicating that everything was clear? Warrick had noticed that the other man hadn't drawn his weapon. Did he want Warrick to follow him down or stay above ground? With a sigh, he opened his cell phone and dialed Brass' phone. If nothing else, the detective needed to know what they had found.

The cellar was much larger than Nick had expected it to be. He had anticipated a single, large room, which this was, but it also had other smaller rooms branching off of it. Shining his flashlight around the main room, he saw only several dusty, cobweb-covered, wooden boxes, empty glass bottles in similar condition and a few pieces of broken furniture.

Looking around the dusty cellar, which smelled of earth and decay, Nick became aware of a strange feeling of dissociation settling over him. The darkness, the earth smells, the unmistakable sense of being underground, all brought back disturbing memories of his own abduction. While he was able to separate these thoughts and force them to the back of his consciousness, they didn't leave altogether and it created a kind surreal sensation in his mind, as though he was walking through a dream, an incredibly vivid and life-like dream. But like all dreams, there was still that sense of detachment from reality.

Moving to the nearest side room, he shined his light inside. The hand that held the flashlight shook slightly. The room was empty except for a few burlap bags lying forgotten on the concrete floor. After checking two more rooms, which were also largely empty, he found that the doorway directly across from the stairs was in fact a passageway, not a room.

Moving cautiously down this short corridor, he found more doorways, this time with closed doors. There were four doors, two on either side of the passageway. He tried the first door on his left. It opened into a small, stone-walled cell, just like the previous rooms. But unlike the previous rooms, it was not empty. There was a small army cot with a few blankets strewn across it. A small pink nightgown with lace trim lay neatly draped across the bed as well. These items were conspicuously free of the all-pervading dust. As he wasn't wearing any gloves at the moment, Nick didn't touch anything.

Leaving the room, he moved to the one beside it. This one was locked. Looking down, he saw a faint, strip of light emerging from under the wooden door. Stepping back a few paces, he kicked at the door handle. The door burst open with a satisfying sound of splintering ancient wood. Stepping into the tiny room, he found one of the wooden crates, tipped on its end to serve as a stand. On it, sat a lit hurricane lamp, casting its feeble glow over the stone walls. Another army cot sat pushed against the right-hand wall.

Tiffany Metcalfe lay facing away from the door. She was tied to the cot by nylon ropes around her chest, waist and ankles. Her hands were also tied in front of her. She was straining against her bonds to see who had entered the room. She was gagged and her face was streaked with tears. Moving slowly, so as not to frighten the child, Nick knelt beside the cot and began untying the ropes.

"Tiffany, my name is Nick. I'm with the police. I'm going to take you home," he said in a soft, gentle tone. He kept his explanation simple, not wishing to confuse her and needing her to trust him.

He needn't have worried. As soon as he had released the girl, she sat up and threw her arms around his neck, bursting into tears. Cradling the back of the child's head with one hand and wrapping the other around her, he rocked her gently and murmured nonsensical words of comfort.

"Hang on to me," he whispered in her ear. "We're getting out of here."

Still clinging tenaciously to his chest, she wrapped her legs tightly around histrim waist. Transferring his own hands to her waist, he carefully stood up with the child stuck to him like a barnacle. Turning toward the door, he found it blocked by Michael McCormick standing in the ruined doorframe, holding a shotgun. The gun was raised to his shoulder, but not quite in firing position, not that it mattered. With his hands occupied with holding the girl, Nick couldn't reach for his own weapon.

"Put the girl down," McCormick said, his oddly high, soft voice perfectly calm.

Nick turned his body, trying to shield as much of the child as he could, but making no move to set her down. Strangely, he felt no fear, still under the influence of that strange sense of dissociation. He was, however, worried for the girl's safety and wondered if the man would risk shooting at him while he still held her.

In the dim light cast by the hurricane lamp and the weird angle of the beam of Nick's flashlight, which was still lying on the bed, McCormick's pale eyes were thrown into shadow, making them appear much darker. Despite the man's outwardly calm and serene demeanor, those eyes revealed the predator within, the wolf in the sheep's clothing. This was a man who had calmly snuffed out the lives of two helpless children. Nick had no doubts that this man would not hesitate to kill him as well and yet he couldn't seem to force his body to move, to respond to the man's command.

Nick was standing with the right side of his body turned away from McCormick, but there was still no way he could reach for his gun without the other man seeing this movement... but Tiffany could. Feeling movement at his waist, he realized that the girl had removed the gun from its holster. His heart was suddenly pounding in his chest, but he didn't dare look at the girl for fear of drawing McCormick's attention to her actions.

With Nick's body shielding her movements, Tiffany raised the gun. She was holding it in her left hand and therefore had to bring it across her body in order to direct it at the gunman. As she did so, her movements were awkward and not swift. Whether it was because his attention was so riveted on Nick that he didn't notice this action or that he had noticed and had simply dismissed the child as a non-threat, McCormick didn't react.

Settling the heavy gun in the crook of her right arm, cradled between her body and Nick's, Tiffany did her best to point the weapon at her abductor. For the first time McCormick shifted his attention away from the investigator and onto the girl holding the gun. He arched one eyebrow slightly in apparent challenge.

The girl had obviously never fired a gun before and therefore had no idea of how to aim it properly. The bullet merely grazed McCormick's left shoulder, but the impact was enough to send the man staggering a few paces and he stumbled backward into the passageway behind him.

A sudden blinding light exploded into the man's eyes, coming from the doorway of the corridor, and a sharp voice commanded him to drop his weapon. McCormick could just make out a vague silhouette behind the light. He could clearly see the barrel of a gun pressed up against the side of the flashlight.

"Drop your weapon!" the voice barked again.

Instead of obeying, McCormick tried to raise the shotgun. He never got the barrel anywhere near his target before three successive shots tore into his body. He collapsed onto the concrete floor, bleeding profusely from two holes in his chest and one in his neck. He managed a few gurgled gasps for air before he died with a long, hissing exhale.

Warrick moved cautiously up to the body, keeping his weapon at the ready the whole time. He nudged the body slightly with one foot. Seeing the sightless, staring eyes, he relaxed his guard. He turned to Nick, still holding the girl, who was still holding the gun, now pointed at Warrick. Slowly he stepped forward and gently removed the weapon from the girl's nerveless fingers. She stared at him wide-eyed.

"You two okay?" Warrick asked.

"Yeah... thanks," Nick answered, his voice shaking slightly. "I'm taking her out of here."

Moving past the other investigator, he left the passageway. As he was approaching the stairs, he encountered Brass and two uniformed officers swarming down, their own weapons drawn.

"What the hell's going on?" the detective demanded. "We heard shots. Who got hit?"

"McCormick, he's dead. Warrick shot him." Nick decided not to say anything about Tiffany's shot. The child had been through enough for now. They could deal with all the other stuff later. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I want to get her out of here."

Back above ground, Nick walked a few feet away from the shed and sank down carefully on the grass, mindful of his precious burden. Sitting cross-legged, he settled the child on his lap and reached up with both hands to push the thick, red curls back from her face, so he could get a better look at her.

"Are you hurt?" he asked.

She shook her head. He nodded in relief. Sensing movement beside him, he turned and looked up to see Catherine approaching. She knelt down beside him.

"Here, why don't you let me take her?" she said gently.

Nick nodded reluctantly. While he understood that the girl, who had been abducted from her home by a strange man, probably would feel more comfortable with a woman, as opposed to another strange man, he couldn't help but feel a need to keep the child close to him. So, he was rather selfishly pleased when Tiffany shrank away from Catherine's touch and wrapped her arms tighter around his neck.

"It's okay, Honey, it's okay," Catherine said soothingly. "You can stay with Nick. No one's going to make you do anything you don't want to."

The woman stepped back and rejoined the rest of the team, who had also hung back, giving the man and the child plenty of space. Tiffany laid her head on Nick's shoulder and he held her close, rocking her slightly and rubbing her back. He spoke softly to her, although he wasn't really even sure what he was saying. He simply babbled to her in a gentle tone.

Though he kept his attention focused on the girl, Nick was aware of the movements of the rest of the team around him. He vaguely heard Brass call for an ambulance and a coroner's wagon. He also heard the detective order two of the uniformed officers to take Mrs. McCormick into custody. They would hold her until they could determine the extent of her involvement in her husband's activities, if there was any. Nick also heard Grissom issuing orders to his team about collecting the evidence in the cellar.

Nick didn't know how long he sat holding the child. He thought she had fallen asleep, but when they both became aware of activity announcing the arrival of the paramedics, she abruptly straightened up and looked at him intently. He returned this look and gave her a reassuring smile.

"You're a very brave girl," he said to her.

"I knew you would come," she said very softly. "I saw you in my dream."

"What!" he whispered, his heart giving a sudden lurch.

Before the child could respond, one of the paramedics appeared by Nick's side, saying, "Sir, you need to let go of her now. We need to check her over."

Again reluctantly, Nick released the child. The medic picked her up and gently placed her on a gurney, asking her questions about her physical state. Feeling useless and abandoned, Nick stood and stepped back out of the way. After a moment, he became aware of Grissom standing beside him.

"Are you alright?" the older man asked.

"Yeah, I'm fine."

"Are you sure? You look like you've seen a ghost."

"No, I'm fine."

The two investigators watched the paramedics work for a few minutes. When the two men moved to lift the gurney and carry it back to the ambulance, the child began fussing and calling Nick's name. He moved quickly to her side.

"Nick, don't leave me!" Tiffany cried, clutching his hand. "Don't leave me!"

"Maybe you should come along, sir," one of the medics said.

Nick turned back to Grissom, the unspoken question in his eyes.

"Go," Gil said. "Brass and I will meet you at the hospital later to get the girl's statement."

The supervisor gave a troubled sigh as he watched his investigator disappear with the paramedics.

To be continued...

Author's note: the special Little-Miss-Smarty-Pants-Gold-Star Award goes to Everybetty for correctly identifying Tiffany's song as 'Do You Know the Muffin Man' after only chapter 2. Good Job! Although, apparently I need to work on my foreshadowing skills.

Thanks to everyone else for the great reviews as well!


	6. Chapter 6

9/11/05

BROTHER GRIMM

Chapter 6

"Sorry, Mia, stand aside. I'm running this sample myself," Greg said, entering the DNA lab.

"Have at," the woman responded. "I'm backed up as it is. I have plenty to keep me busy."

Grissom had ordered Greg to take a sample of McCormick's blood so they could test it against the semen samples taken from the two dead girls. They wanted to be certain that he was the one who had raped and killed them. They didn't want to take any chances that someone else in the McCormick clan wasn't also involved.

Greg had rushed the sample back to the lab and had prepared it. Now he was waiting for the results, pacing around the DNA lab and thoroughly annoying Mia. They both looked over as Grissom and Sara entered the lab, followed moments later by Catherine.

"Well?" Gil asked.

"Not done yet," the younger man said with a shrug. "Soon."

As the three new arrivals made themselves comfortable, leaning against counters and seating themselves in empty chairs, Mia gave an exasperated sigh.

"Okay, I'm not going to be able to get anything done with all of you in here," she said, standing. "I'm going on break. Your results should be done by the time I get back. I don't want to see any of you in here at that time."

The others watched her leave with amused expressions. Once she was gone, they returned to their quiet waiting.

Looking at the others, Greg said, "I know Nick's still at the hospital with the girl, but where's Warrick?"

"He's with someone from Internal Affairs," Grissom answered. "There's a lot of paperwork to fill out every time you discharge your weapon. There's even more if you actually shoot someone."

"He's not going to get in any trouble, is he?"

"No, it was a good shooting," Catherine said confidently. "It's just procedure. Of course I.A. will still have to get statements from Nick, possibly even the girl."

Greg nodded, digesting this new information. All four investigators jumped slightly as the printer spat out the results of the test. The former lab tech moved to the machine and picked up the printout. He was silent for a moment as he read it.

"It matches," he announced. "McCormick was acting alone."

He handed the sheet to Grissom, who looked it over himself, nodding slightly. "Alright, I'm going to show this to Brass. He's questioning Mrs. McCormick. Then we're going to head over to the hospital to talk to the girl and fetch Nick."

"Hey, uh, speaking of Nick," Greg started, as Grissom stood, "once again, he knew right where the girl was when none of us did."

"What are you getting at, Greg?" the older man asked.

"I don't know," the former lab tech said, with a slight shrug. "I just think it's weird that he seemed to be one step ahead of the rest of us all along. And then there were those weird dreams of his... You think maybe it's possible that his experience of being buried alive... changed him...?"

"Changed him?" Grissom repeated, one eyebrow raised skeptically.

"Yeah, you know, made him psychic or something?"

The supervisor gave a chuckle and glanced at the two women. His laugh died when he saw them watching him soberly, apparently awaiting his explanation as well. He turned back to the younger man.

"No, Greg, Nick is not psychic," he said firmly. "The mind is still a very mysterious organ. We still don't entirely know how it works. Remember, Nick has been running a low-grade fever for the past couple of days. It's entirely possible that he had all the pieces of the puzzle, but his conscious mind couldn't put them together because it was hampered by the fever. But in his dreams, his subconscious mind was free to put them together, but being the subconscious, it didn't do it in a wholly logical way."

"Yeah, maybe, but that doesn't explain how he knew where both Ashley and Tiffany were. There weren't any clues about that. So, how did he get all the pieces of the puzzle when none of us did?"

"Maybe there were clues and we simply missed them, but Nick's subconscious mind didn't. Maybe Nick just wanted it more than we did. I don't know, Greg. I don't have all the answers all the time. But I can tell you, with certainty, that Nick is not psychic."

"Okay, if you say so," the young man said, sounding disappointed. "I don't know, I guess I just kind of liked the idea of 'Nick Stokes: Psychic Detective.'"

"You watch too much television, Greg."

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When Grissom and Brass arrived at Desert Palm Hospital, they were directed to Tiffany's room in Pediatrics by the receptionist at the front desk. They found Nick sitting on a vinyl-covered, padded bench in the hallway outside the room. The young man looked haggard and slightly dazed.

The girl's room was not private and there were three other children in the large space as well. While Brass went inside to ask the Metcalfe's if he and Grissom could speak to the child about her ordeal, the lead CSI wandered over to stand beside the other investigator.

"Have you spoken to the girl at all?" he asked.

"Yeah, I was with her earlier, but then her parents showed up and..." He let his voice trail off and gave a slight shrug.

Grissom nodded. "How is she doing?"

"Amazingly well, actually. The doctors said she wasn't raped. They think with some therapy, she'll be all right. Children are incredibly resilient."

"That's good news. How are you holding up? You look exhausted."

"I'm okay," the younger man said dismissively.

"Listen, Nick, when Brass and I interview the girl, I think it would be best if you stayed out here. I think your presence might distract her and we need her to focus."

Even to Grissom's ears the excuse sounded lame. But the fact remained that Nick had gotten entirely too emotionally involved with this case and Grissom needed the younger man to step back. For his own sake, and for Tiffany's, he would need to move on from the case eventually, it was best to do it sooner rather than later. He was relieved when Nick said nothing and gave a slight nod.

Brass reappeared in the doorway of the room. "Okay, Gil, we got the green light. Let's do this," he said.

Nick continued to sit in the hallway, patiently waiting for the other two men. Grissom had been right, of course, he was exhausted. The cold he had been trying so hard to ignore was asserting itself with a vengeance now that the case was resolved. His head felt like it was stuffed with cotton and he was having trouble concentrating on any one thing for too long.

He didn't really know how long he sat there. He was once again experiencing that strange sense of detachment. But, after what he was reasonably sure was longer than fifteen minutes, he looked up to see Grissom and Brass leaving the room. The two men came to join him by the bench.

"Well?" Nick asked.

"We got everything we need," Grissom said. "Let's get back to the lab. You need to talk to I.A. and give them a statement about the shooting."

"You know what, Gil? Why don't you head on back. I'll give Nick a ride. We'll meet you there," Brass offered, giving the senior investigator a pointed look.

"Right. I'll see you two back at the lab," Grissom said, walking away.

The detective sat down on the bench beside the younger man with a weary sigh.

"Greg ran a DNA comparison. McCormick was the one who raped and killed Samantha Dresher and Ashley Russell," Brass said conversationally. "All evidence indicates that he was acting alone. I believe the wife, that she didn't know anything. She seems pretty self-absorbed and clueless.

"After you left with the ambulance, we searched the cellar. We found a tunnel which connects the house to the cellar. I'm not sure what it was first built for, but it seems to be original to the estate. It's definitely where he kept all three girls... How did you know it was there? How did you know the girl was there?"

"I didn't know it was there," Nick said. "I just found it. Once I did, I knew Tiffany was down there, because where else would she be? It was the perfect place to keep her."

"I see. So, you just got lucky?"

"Yeah, I guess so."

"Is that why you went down there without waiting for back-up, without waiting for me or one of the uniforms to clear the place first, 'cause you were feeling lucky?" The detective's voice had risen incrementally while asking this question and by the time he got to the end, he was almost yelling.

"No," Nick said softly, slightly taken aback by the other man's strident tone.

"Good, because your name and the word 'lucky' do not often appear in the same sentence, so I wouldn't want to push that little coincidence too far, if I were you. What the hell were you thinking?"

"I wasn't, really. I just knew Tiffany was close by and she was in danger. I knew I had to find her. That's all I was thinking about. And if I had waited for you, it would have been too late. He would have killed her."

That statement seemed to deflate the older man and he gave a slight nod, his anger suddenly dissipating.

"So, this was only about you trying to get to the girl before McCormick could kill her?"

"Yeah, what else would it be about?"

"Oh, I don't know, the rush of the adrenaline high, the thrill of being the hero, the possibility of going out in a blaze of glory."

"Are you asking if I have a death wish?"

"Look, Nick, I know you don't have a death wish. I know how hard you fought to stay alive during your... crisis, but I've seen this kind of thing before. A cop almost gets killed in the line of duty, maybe even gets shot. Afterward, he's in a kind of emotional shock, he can't seem to feel anything any more, but he remembers that, no matter how scared he was while he was in danger, he had never felt so alive. And then he starts to look for ways to recapture that feeling. He starts taking risks; deliberately putting himself in danger, just so he can feel that same sense of being more alive. Is that what's going on here, Nick?"

The younger man was silent for a long time, digesting this question. As uncomfortable as it made him, he had to admit, he did know what Brass was talking about. He had felt that emotional numbness from time to time since his abduction, but he really didn't think that was what had led him down to the cellar. It had been those dreams, the ones that he couldn't explain and didn't really want to talk about.

"I don't know," Nick said at last.

Brass nodded. "Well, thank you for being honest. And what about these dreams? I overheard Sara and Greg talking about them. You dreamed about the girl?"

"Yeah, but I don't know what they meant, I just know they seemed to be leading me to Tiffany. Grissom thinks I was identifying too much with her and that's why I dreamt of her and maybe he's right. I don't know... Did she say anything about dreams when you two talked to her?"

"No, why?"

"Oh, nothing," Nick said quickly, wondering if he had just imagined her telling him that she had dreamt of him. "You know, I know it sounds stupid, but sometimes, during the dreams, I felt this connection to her, like she was my kid, my daughter."

"You grew up in a big family, didn't you?"

"Yeah, youngest of seven."

"You ever think about having kids of your own?"

"Yeah. You know, I had this plan when I was in college. I would graduate, spend a few years getting my career going then I would settle down and start a family," the investigator looked over at the detective with a bitter smile. "The career thing has gone pretty well, but the family part, not so much.

"It's kind of hard to start a family when you don't even have a wife. I keep telling myself that I have plenty of time, but every year that excuse gets little more lame."

Brass said nothing. What could he say? He understood completely how the younger man felt. It wasn't just women who had biological clocks. Just because a man was capable of fathering a child late in his life, didn't mean that's what he wanted to do. Most men wanted to still be young enough, when their children arrived, to actually enjoy being with them.

Brass had discovered that fatherhood was a precious gift entirely too late and now he could never go back and fix his errors. He found the thought that such a caring and giving man, like Nick Stokes, might not experience that gift, especially cruel.

"You promised Grissom that when this case was over, you'd go and see Janine, right?" the detective asked.

"Yes, I will."

"Good, come on, let's go get some breakfast. You don't look like you've eaten for a few days."

"Haven't been very hungry. Shouldn't we get back to the station? I still have to talk to I.A."

"Eh, they can wait."

As they were walking past the open doorway of Tiffany's room, Nick stopped and looked inside. He thought about going in to say good-bye to the child. He could see her bed from the doorway. She was asleep, her parents sitting on either side of the bed, each holding one of her hands. It was a beautiful tableau and he had no place within it and no right to intrude upon it. Turning back to Brass, he found the detective watching him with a concerned expression.

"Yeah, let's get out of here," Nick said softly. "I hate hospitals."

_... And so the girl and her family lived happily ever after. And what of the knight, you ask? Well, his quest continues..._

THE END

Author's note: Okay, that was really short, sorry. And I have no excuse for why it took me so long to write it, other than I had no motivation level, it happens. Anyway, thanks to everyone who read and reviewed, and anyone who read and didn't review : ).


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